White Rose From The Atlas
Now Paris
Is washing its eyes
With August rain
Paris is now
A woman
A Babylonian bride
Her wedding
Is set on Christmas
I hear youyous in Paris
And emigrants cheering
And applauding
To welcome
These eyes of marble
This is your day woman
You will hug
Another man
A Parisian
Black-feet
Who does not respect
The rain
In my little house
There are many essays
And poems
Some I do not feel I need
Some are not mine
They are still
Standing up
The way I left them
This morning
The fireplace is silent
Like a grandmother
Who knows when she should talk
Too many books
In different languages
Agitated
Like me
Even your journal
As you left it
It still keeping
Its preferred place,
Its blue color
And the smell of your burned desires
The first December snow
Is falling in a rebellious motions,
It is embracing the town’s big avenue
And dancing with the last falling leaves
Against its will
This is not very important
[...] Read more
poem by Atef Ayadi
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
