She Greets The Sun

She Greets The Sun
Written for and Dedicated to my good Friend, Kholood Azz.

 

Neck down an Imazighen sculpture, aware of her head,
where the fire burns an intense shade of blue, not hectic red!
One feet straddling the azure Mediterranean, she puts
the other on the glittering sands of cruel Sahara,
where the crickets never sing and the grains, both fine and crude
do not know the bliss of rain in hearts, made of Silica!

 

“You,”, she cried, casting her fiery eyes to the east, “unruly sun,
wake up from your weary sleep”, she insisted, “and pierce the horizon
with light from the fire that burns inside you, as it does in my head,
fusing lighter elements into the core building blocks of life,
so I can welcome those numerous blinding flashes of brightness
and know if the fire burns equally within my heart, limbs and strides!”

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A Parallax of Thoughts

A Parallax of Thoughts

O Butterfly, flap not your wings in Africa!
Each time you do a violent storm rips me apart,
though my love is not like the madness of oil’s price,
moved up and down by the pride of Caligula
and nor am I the Emperor, O silent Sky!
    

I was not born a thousand years ago, neither
would I live to see a thousand Springs come and go.
I wonder, had Nero known he would soon be dead,
would he still be playing on! Perhaps now we shall know
from the man with a caterpillar on his head!
   

But the Sky remains mostly as silent as God
and everywhere the mob drowns all innocence.
Despite the loud thunders, raindrops fall on the sea.
I smell the desert wind then a storm rips through me!

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The Birth of A Day*

The Birth of A Day*

Have you seen how the mornings spread across the sky,
as if Nature herself, with an invisible brush
drips water to the east on darkness of the night
and the horizons grow pale with every wash!

     

After a while her color palette shifts to blue,
her canvas brightens with virgin rays from the sun
and soon the silence of the air is broken too
by birds on rustic trees, meadows and city barns.

    

Then the fusing yellow dwarf takes over the scene,
like a child, jolted from the peace of his mother’s thighs.
The canvas turns into an art of reckoning,
exposed and merciless, in the blink of an eye!

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*Thank You!

O Night, Tender Night

O Night, Tender Night

O Night, tender night, I miss the darkness
of your silent hours, when the society
is dead asleep! Introspection that shreds
myself to pieces in search of the light
demands prolonged hours of darkness in solitude!

   

Now I too must surrender to the whims
and wishes of my frail limbs, the pinnacle
of evolution, one step in front of the chimps!

   

Pity for my empty dreams I have through the night
like the rest, of belonging to a higher step
the next day; higher not ahead on a stairway
built on the whispering wind and vague promises
of a better day, at the cost of one’s neighbors’ demise!

    

As the dawn spreads across the horizon,
a darkness grows inside despite the rising sun.
Soon the forged manacle of time with its tick-tocking,
incessant, pushes me over the edge of sanity.

   

And though I know, absolute freedom too is disastrous,
amid so many shining abattoirs
on every walk of life, I am neither cruel
nor fat enough to take either roles, so I pray –
O Night, tender night, I miss growing mad the other way!

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