Wednesday, 20 September 2017

Human Vestiges from "Other Poems"


Not lost from my childhood years
is a silent devotion to a sound of bells.
To the dusking altars of all churches 
and the blue domes of minarets in heavenly expanses. 

To an organ's tune at evening,
to wide squares fading in darkness,
and to a fountain that splashes, gently and quietly
and sweetly, like the babbling of unintelligible children. 

I see myself dreaming quietly, folding the hands,
and whispering prayers long forgotten,
and early sadness sombering my gaze. 

Because a woman's figure, wreathed
by sinister grief, glimmers from confused shapes
and pours into me the chalice of nefarious shudders.
A whiff of feverish poisonous plants. 

It makes me dream in lunar dusks,
and quietly I feel entwined, embraced,
and see blood-colored blossoms in the mirrors' brightness. 
Born from the shadow of a breath.

I see myself dreaming quietly, folding the hands,
and whispering prayers long forgotten,
and early sadness sombering my gaze. 








© omar baz radwan, 2017




























https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v_PK0oifeNU