*** (My condolences, darling) ***
************* My pen:
Maysa Ali Dakdouk / Syria /
****************
A person in my poem
Surgeon surplus surgery
Fill the surgeon's lips with salt
Its doors are open to its tragedies
And the sea over
His gown is red brother
His coat is trimmed from Yasmine, Bilsan and Nakheel
Browse his history
Lie on a commode
And the doors are open to his tragedies
And the sea over
Gossip, fluffy and fluffy
Braying, bleating and howling
And the voices of Blable are looming
Lovers
The hymns of their hymns go out by force
Scream whispering
The night is long black, long
The eyes sleep open to pain
Daydreams and stay up late
Serving as angels
Their love is like a breeze
Their love
Love the earth for rain
Lust for dawn juice
Greening their yearning
As long as the spike comes from its sleeves
To the top of the sky
To the miserable table
Close the doors
where is he ?
Painful or dying?
Swinging between despair and hope
And the sea over
I saw him surreptitiously between the cup and evening
I hugged him in the wind gap
Take care of the sea
My poem choked in the mazes of the waves
My heart is a memory on the balconies of its history
The sea rose
Announcing the Al-Yamar revolution.
***************
*** 6/1/2020 by my pen:

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