What if there were no tomorrow,
And our eyes would never lock,
And I never got to hug you,
No more flights left to book,
Have I not known this before?
Have I not almost lost?
All the promises that we give
Excuses not to live
Then we sail far away.
Chasing ports we cannot dock.
All we do is stall the call
But we can’t stop the clock
You, Love!
Inside the walls you’ve built,
So tight,
Impermeably sealed.
Occasionally,
you climb to take fleeting peeks at those without,
then retreat,
far and deep.
A dance: now seen, now concealed,
now claiming a heart, or two, in your sweep,
Only to abandon, unfulfilled, and unhealed.
You withdraw, timid and untouched,
into a realm where light pervades yet smothers.
What purpose do you serve, Love?
If your flame lights no path?
It merely consumes your essence, entirely.
This land is mine,
my vibrant playground.
With the other ten thousand children of the neighbourhood,
We used to run about.
We’d tease Mr. Ali at his old shop,
He’d pretend to chase us with a broom.
We had no fear.
School was fun, with friends and games,
Our teacher Fatima knew all our names.
Chalk, and dreams,
of a world beyond conflict,
beyond the suffering and screams.
Today, the sky was sunny,
I was on the balcony admiring our olive tree.
But in a flash,
the sky roared.
I felt really scared.
I have already lost half of my friends.
Maryam, Peter and Mahmoud.
Under the rubbles of their homes.
Maryam, the little artist, with colors in her heart,
Her canvas remains blank, torn apart.
Peter, was going to be the next priest,
of our 800 years old church, now he lies under the altar.
Mahmoud, the future doctor, who promised to heal,
now, is just remains.
Maryam is killed.
Peter is killed.
Mahmoud is killed,
The olive tree is killed,
and the church is shattered.
It was all just too much.
Now I am also gone.
Five thousand dreams,
now whisper in the wind.
In what world is this fine?
Why don’t they care about me?
Peter was actually blond,
They say his great-grandmother was French,
with sky-blue eyes.
Would it have helped,
if we had shown the world Peter’s face,
instead of mine?
I guess it is too late now.
We are all playing in heaven.
Mom, it is so nice here.
Serene, no cries.
Nobody hates us for no reason,
and nobody is discriminated.
We are all loved and cared for.
Equally.
I thought I saw you the other day.
It took me a few seconds to remember that you are no more among us. Reincarnation?
Or probably in some other dimension? Shining your timid smile in another universe. While slightly tilting your head.
Ahh, your smile, your weapon, your fishing net, a gatherer of obsessed hearts.
Yet, you departed. With this exquisite collection of trophies
Leaving a multitude of men:
Incapable of love
Her fragrance of oud, a match for her majestic elegance
But her lower eyelid, beautifully lined with kohl, like a dam holding back her tears,
on the verge of overflow,
Her radiant smile remained intact, in denial
“Have you seen one smile and cry?” she asked
That smile, though weakened by her tears, still radiated a light that outshone the sun’s rays on today’s noon
Her irises, colored like the northern lights, floated above a river of tears
I felt her pain, but never could I understand
Love and despair, an unfair pair
I knew she struggled, burdened with care
I wished to ease her pain and take it away
But all I could do was fly
P.S.: this poem was improved using ChatGPT. Neat, no?
In an early Saturday hour, it was just me and the cobblestones,
an empty old town.
One lonely goose in the river.
It is the farmers’ market today.
I bought tulips from the oldest woman.
I smelled them. I smiled. I quivered.
It was then, I thought of you.
I knew we won’t be two,
if you never show up,
if you keep on hiding in the future.
In case, we don’t fall in love forever,
and our hearts of petals keep on flying apart,
blown everywhere by the indecisive winds,
I will love the thought of you.
And while waiting for eternity,
let kindness prevail,
in our fragmented stories:
unique and unmatched
they pave our paths,
like Cobblestones!
The theory of dust..
I have just invented..
Or maybe I read it..
in some magazine..
It says that this earth..
is highly committed,
to pulling you down..
deep and within.
That’s why its magnetic..
Reunion of dust..
It’s almost poetic..
But everything dies.
Every. Thing. Ends.
The earth will get back.
all what she has lent..
But wait..
there is heaven..
with angels and souls
It’s properly hidden.
behind some unseen walls..
and mostly forgotten..
between the prayers and moans..
but it has also given..
your soul and your scent..
she also wants back..
what she has once lent..
You try to escape..
You want to exist..
you try finding life..
You try and resist..
in the darkness of cosmos.
in the light of your heaven..
some loves and some hates..
we think all persists
so dust pulls some dust
and soul pulls some soul
laws of attraction..
that always exist..
but,
Everyone dies..
Everything ends..
A dot at the end of the line..
start a new page..
put a dot after a letter..
flip a couple of pages..
and put another dot..
then reverse and ponder..
maybe you resume where you stopped..
and then release another dot..
and maybe you swing back and forth..
and wonder..
what if I stay with what I have got..
surrender..
i beg you not..
flip a few more pages..
and remember..
where you stopped..
or drop the book altogether..
and come to me..
I have lit the fire ..
and washed the pot..
i will make your tea..
i will serve it hot..
we will sit apart..
in silence..
Give me a minute, I will dance again…
I will smile at you..
I will share a story..
I will take you for dinner, and I will pay too.
Give me an hour, we will go for a walk..
We will breathe that fresh air by the river, we will eat grilled chestnuts..
We will laugh and talk..
Give me some more time, and I won’t save a dime.
I will buy myself a ticket, I will buy you one too..
I am not too sad, I just don’t like farewell parties.
I will have a few drinks and then slip away when nobody is watching..
“Oh.. He left. It was nice when he was here..”
Well, here is a memory to keep.
I will tap on your shoulder,
and caress your neck.
Remember these touches,
Unlike me, they are eternal.
It is not what they think..
I am not collecting much pleasure now.
I am trying to leave bits of me behind.
I don’t want to cease to exist.
I don’t want you to forget.
Oh, I guess it is time.
I will put on my favorite socks with bicycle patterns
I will ride my bicycle to that field with the blooming flowers
I will take photos of the yellow ones.. at the time of the sunset..
Just like every spring, when I think they bloom to say:
Adios
Photo: Passing of love, using: photo by Zoe, photo by Danielle Dolson , photo by Julian Hochgesang, photo by Aron Visuals
Oh nurrrse!
Signor Carlo says he can’t breathe..
He might be the next in line..
Or maybe that Signora..
in bed number nine..
Oh God!
We will have to decide again..
The healthy or the friend?
or that young man in pain?
oh God!
Your job of decision,
is too hard for a man..
They just keep on coming..
we try but in vain..
This emergency unit..
is a station of pain..
a gateway for heaven..
more loss than we gain..
Air is now gold..
and gold is just air..
it seems that in death,
this virus is fair!..
Oh Air!
we took you for granted..
we just didn’t care..
we cut more than we planted..
you damned us with fear..
Oh God..
Tie down these death angels..
that you have unleashed..
The lessons are mastered..
This virus has preached..
These numbers are rising..
We are in despair..
We never have thought..
we would run out of air..
