Thursday, September 1, 2022



A Scary Dream


Every night I have a scary dream.

So I wake up, frightened, as if I’m seeing it for the first time;

a cloud, hanging from a tree,

climbing the night with a shadow around her neck,

from which light rain is falling

to wet the words lying in the garden.

When it thunders, and the twilight’s prophets come down

to adorn the festivities of the mud,

It shivers, just like I do,

disappears under a branch...

....... and sleeps.

Shadow in The Garden


He runs...

He hurries.....

He doesn’t look behind.

Wet with rain…water haunting him from every side,

He enters the park,

He stands in front of the door.

Then he goes to see his face in front of the mirror.

He can remember all the shadows left on the road,

but he can’t see his face.

Did he forget his shadow in the garden?

He remained focused yet his memory failed him.


A Letter To A Woman


To write a letter to a woman who only lives in your dreams

may seem venturous for the sake of writing.

And here I’m now, staying up late at night.

Still writing a speech to a woman who doesn’t know me .

I play with her on my pillow like a passionate kiss.

It shouldn’t really take all this trouble;

as she doesn’t know that I go out every night

looking for a cloud.

That would suddenly fall off the line.

Lonely, I follow her in the jungle of languages.

Then I sit on the hill to read her a poem.

Naïve as I have never been before,

I ask the night about his recent lovers

as my papers get wet with the gentle rain,

and she is waiting for me to sleep

over the edge of the poem.


Nothing On My Table


Nothing on my table…

But some trivial things that are not worth mentioning:

The book by "Plath" with its straightforward calls for death,

the title of an old god that is no longer worship worthy,

no religious books, as the prophets do not visit me,

and white papers for an anticipated suicide.

Writing is a serious attempt to commit suicide

or to postpone an idea.

Thus… nothing on my table,

but letters to a lover that I don’t know.




FETHI SASSI: He is a Tunisian poet. Born in 1.6.1962, Nabul, Tunisia. He is a writer of prose poetry, short poems and haiku and a translator of all his poems to English and for others great poets. Poetry Books : A Seed of Love (2010). I dream …. And I sign on birds the last words (2013) A sky for a strange bird ( 2016, Egypt) As  lonely rose … one chair (March 2017, Egypt)  I used to hang my face behind the door ( April 2018) A new way for absence (April2019). Member of :-Tunisian Writers’ Union -Literature Club of Sousse

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