By Youssef Naciri
On a snowing evening she rose,
But I warmed her shades to doze;
So, her pride begun to grow,
As I rained long to know;
To this rose, I was one in her thorns
As flesh in her skin and Bones!
But as summer came by,
So long! Said as if to deny:
That snow is no fancy, but a lie!
****
So, she faced her threat,
As silence conquered her breath;
But then she broke the stroke!
And when she’s done she spoke:
That out of roughness comes death!
That out of loss lies her threat.
****
Fragile as if she’s tied!
She felt as deemed inside;
That fate ceased her last cackle;
That fear waters her empty bottle!
As bullets in a rifle.
****
And then she said….
Oh ‘mother’ take me aside!
Oh my gentle pride!
My heart was raped
By a wolf all naked.
****
Still, by time!
She’d be old to know,
That she went with the wrong flow;
As we took the same boat,
The Anchor left us in the desert;
I sold out my meat,
As if lost beneath her feet…!
But the liver of thoughts remains on its peak,
Long as the books of each season speak.
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