* (Plunge into dark nights) *** *************** By Maysa Dakdouk
*************** By
Maysa Dakdouk / Syria /
-------------------------
In a dark night gloom and a silent scream ..
Where the colors are all inspiring black
Trees crawl barriers towards the river
There is a tree loosing it over ...
Moon face shadow.
A story that tells me an echo ...
From the top ...
Then faded
She's a woman who fell into the river ...
Her hands of blood ..
And her eyes from Dag Pak
Everything is still like a flint ...
Or as a fossil
A dead fire and the color became gray ..
The memory rusted ...
The woman fell into the river
I wonder:
Where's the echo?
It may be a man from a wandering pub ...
He may be a man who made a mistake and then fled stumbles ... his sins.
The gray color screams silently ...
Step, two steps ...
Then the torrent starts
The dirty shadow is terrified ..
Discover a tree in the echo of sound ..
Another tree, another ...
Frame is not complete ....
The dark night is crying and looking at himself
Wondering:
What day am I ?!
Is it Friday or Sunday?
I heard him silent tree ...
She began to recognize countless stories
Memory puts on her chest a burden
She called her the road and the night was bleak
The number of men with axes without end.
The number of men who call chastity and drink sins endlessly.
They don't distinguish between day and night
Their eyes on the dreamy streets ...
The pristine trees ...
That are going ignorant and falling into the river.
It is the tragedy of war.
Thirsty beings driven by grief and want.
To cool black cushions.
The scholars are wasting their nights in arithmetic and algebra.
In the labs formulate a new anesthetic.
They are colored with blood crystal glasses filled with wine.
Knights of time thrown in the lust of the sea ...
Their eyes were filled with salt.
Leaving the nudity of trees for autumn ..
He drinks their sap.
Prefer death over life
And the people of graces do not realize the secret of the huts
And tin houses.
Running after treasures ...
Forgetting hypotheses.
No common language between objects
Listen to them from behind the range.
They dream of living in heaven
They build dams between them and the wretched
They don't listen to jingles or ears.
Their gaze on thrones and crowns
They exchange conversations of the deaf
(All dreams about Lila.)
And wants to achieve dreams
And if the disc of the disk is dancing on ..
Window rhymes.
**********
*** 16/9/2019.
Shortcake: Maysa Dakdouk.
Follow / Salam Salem
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