Bringing Around Poem by AbdelAziz Alhaider

Abdul Aziz Haider
Publication 1986 in the Journal of the Republic Baghdadiya



To the whisper that sat on my desk
And its strewn face papers

Pens, and Inkwell


To the whisper that poured from the jar of the full night


whisper that became a night cockroach To the

In my arid room

Or to the whispered tunes such as puff mixed the side of the curtain,

I listen.....


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• Are you finished?
• final glass..........
Usually I finish the cup at a defining moment
Listen
And throw a stone in the stream of silence

Belt my voice with rings

And listen again

To the whisper that boom in the bitterer boredom blood ...... In my fatal
isolation

As threads of spiders.. or smoke... is an illusion....... Or confused
language


And the heart is a virgin cocooned by the becoming


And blood

Ah, the blood is the light of rubies published in the depth of the cave of autism and existence,

Of from which face?

Which picture....? ? Coming to listen

I do not hear more than the laughter of immoral

Laughter's of the pretty girls dancing with the waves of the poem as pictures of wilted flowers

To the whisper of complicated dark...... the poem is listening... I listen

Away from the hearing

Away from the memory


Listen to the world under the pillow collected by the dream


Balled them to a pellet violated the ball of the memory

And explode it at the site of the wound....
lights

Of tattered pictures scattered ….confused


- A last cup?
• Did you listen?

• Cup final


• It is usually in the loving to draw with the light

And make with their poems keys of the gates of their imposable expectations


And language - word - Witch Pictures

Away from the hearing nearby from memory

To my whisper……….from mine to mine

Listen to this clicks of the branches of the poem

As It is growing

Listen... and attract the dream and the memory

To die together.. In the critical point


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