She Alone Knows...
She alone
knows...
My hand does not
hold my five fingers
And does not
protect me from the grip of filth
Dirtied by the
groaning of anxious emotions,
And the pregnant
run away from the ramifications of the rain
So can I gather
myself from falling...!!
ــــ
She alone
knows...
The hands of
time have penetrated, stuffed
With the long
vowel between the letters M and R,
With quick steps
over the cracks of thirst
The appointments
of love have been stoked with anticipation
And the hearts
have been exposed for the prayer of Istisqa..!!
Writing On Water...
I am not helped
by idiocy
Waiting...
My body is
drowning in self-exile,
Even the mirrors
are confused
In front of my
image...
Its worn-out
reflections do not translate
Steals time,
From an empty
time like a mirage
Shakes hands
with its mythical mask
Runs to plow a
neglected field
Whenever the sky
gathers its clouds
Those migratory
birds urinate on it
Waiting has
another story,
And another
round in public
He leads me to
his dormitory...
Like a sheep for
slaughter,
Until I
eavesdropped
From the hole of
sorrows
And death bought
me
From its salty
fields...
At the price of
pain and sleep
Thus ended the
month of pollination
Like writing on
water.!!
What Is Left For Me ...
Except the roots
of smoke
Inside the
monastery of groaning ...!
I retreat in the
yellow autumn coat,
When the mud's
viscosity creeps
And does not
care about the homeland of skulls...
He blindfolds
the eyes of passersby with a scarf
A gleam of false
light,
He trims the
nails of the night with the point of the spears of the covenant
He smiles behind
a window with dislocated edges
Averting the
mouth of the migrating wind,
So the horses of
his white clouds fade
In the embrace
of the occupation of gloom...
Perhaps the care
of fate
Was above all
the knowledgeable,
And the clouds
carried the burdens of their improvised days
Leaving the
plague of the spreading shadows...
In the rosy
horizon spaces at sunset
He seeks an
excuse for the drowning of the balsam
In the thirst of
a rapist Matriarch,
For that sealed
language to be agitated
On the sides of
the river with the chants of the waterwheels
And the dance of
the waist of the miserable oak tree
Fucking her
shallow body,
And what is left
for me of that story?
Other than
bracelets of fire
Eats me with
features of vanity
And devours the
ears of joy firmly,
And turns them
into debris in the wind
Ah... Oh my
wrist
Ah... For your
lazy rose
Ah... For the
pain of the negligent
Among the
deserts of life, he takes off his garment from me
He pushes me out
of spite for a fleeting life
And I am in his
false lap ...!
With his paid
mask, he seduces me
To be his rough
rib ...!
ADNAN AL-RIKANI
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