AHMED F. BAIDOON

 

On The Fringe Of Hope

Here I am – embalmed in a city of vanity,

Destitute of truth and free from obscenity,

Ponder upon lies and my skiff of monotony with penetrant stride,

No longer could I see dynasty of utopia or good morals to abide.

Here I am – when darkness loomed and long last despair,

A doddering wisdom of mine, how do I dare?

Deprived of elixir of going on, stripped of my joyous parade,

Barricaded with gossip, bunded with premises of blockade,

Of such imbued clouds on the top of the world,

Mongering flammable rays of the gyre whirled.

In my woven cell, I trapped myself,

Did those letters frisk the targeted shelf?

Crown my cocoon with a fluttering butterfly,

Suckling my lethargy and I;

Did nothing but a nostalgic cry!

Without Words

That soul of yours – with intermittent throbbing pulse,

Be it you wholeness, a realm of dreams,

Tinged with aromatic spell of tempestuous stream; 

Of mighty wrath and flux of untold pathos,

That gentle ravishing mistress “congeniality” is what world meant to me.

She smiled across that fearful screen,

With moaning torrential tears,

Holding her dolly with helpless gene,

Her house of fiction did cast her away,

Excuse my shredded expression – pardon my delay,

I have nothing in the palm of hands for salvation,

That merciless monstrous girdle did quit my solace,

Likewise, putting you under his custody and fetters of guillotine,

And, sentence you and I in a moribund.

Then, that far-fetched hemisphere doth abandon us in nowhere,

Our soul’s plea for succor, yelling out for a panacea,

For me, a hermit on a dismantled podium;

And you, a diamond-in-the rough, tucked away in a dormant statuette.

He And I

Before my eyeball, he stood and said:

‘you, absurd being, are grounded!’,

With gazing apples, frowned with reddish lash;

‘Ain’t I the same of you, or you’d like to smash?’

Then, I could hear that splash,

I tried out to pull together those fragmented parcels,

What a travesty! I did bruise my ego, behold such a kraken or a griffin!

Ain’t I that mystic shape that cause that stampede?

Isn’t it that deformed aurora?, or my pipe dreams fleet did proceed,

Whoever did vanquish over the other shall reign and supersede!

Hold your horses, my split psyche, I want an incarnation of “the impossible man”;

That miraculous robot whom I were likely to understand,

What!... also you called yourself ‘the chosen’,

Vie! – such vanity of oneself impalpably shall attain satisfaction!

Otherwise; who could fetch that horoscope for meta-verse magic reaction?

Just be yourself – mind you metamorphosed into an anomalous fraction! 

AHMED F. BAIDOON

AHMED F. BAIDOON: This is Mr. Ahmed F. Baidoon from Egypt, situated on the northern coast of the Mediterranean sea (Damietta), born in 1981, my passion for literary works started at the High School before having my degree at English Department in the university, my former writings during my study were poetic genres translated into the native mother tongue, Arabic, in addition to paraphrasing some poems for Shakespeare, William Words Worth, Yeats and Robert Frost, some highlights on the African contemporary poets and novelists, most of contemporary erudition on the Egyptian writers in literature. Still my poetic modus operandi are reflected throughout finding a manifest-clear equivalent of Arabic literary genre into English context, I am a curious enthusiastic member on the social media Facebook in the forum of Al-jiad in Jordan, Nabd Al-ebda3 Alarabi, Montada Alkalimat in Egypt, Dar Amarji paper editions in Iraq and other Arabic symposia for Poets and literators’ confederations, I won some certificates of appreciation in literary contests as excelled and topped the other colleagues in terms of short stories, micro fiction and poetic stanzas in  Arabic throughout the social media, I am smitten by the English language, rather my Arabic is the most exquisite language with transcendent figures of speech by which I can hardly find an equivalent interpretation into other languages. As for my part, literature is not all-in-all a mere piece of writing that walks and talks, rather ascribing life to non-animate objects and grant life to the surrounding natural elements to be replete with vitality and serenity for the sake of humanity. Attached hereunder some selected poetic archive targeted in March 2024, collections of 3 poems for the World Volume: