Poem 135, Sonnet 70: Whitewashed Tomb Poem by Samer Madbak

Oh den of dire dreams, and pit of pain
How woeful are your whims, your wicked web
Your beaming bliss is but a bilious bleb
Thou hole of heady hopes, O world inane!
How eagerly we seek, we plod in vain
Conceive the climax, but effect our ebb
Until the coffin swallows king and pleb
And darkness harries our bizarre campaign
We chase our fancies, who can seize the fume?
Sell all to buy the gem we cannot spend
Our buds we groom until our petals bloom
Abloom, upon Life's thorny stem, we rend
We fix our lamps, set out to meet the groom
We find our doom, the whitened tomb...our end!


Beirut
July 8th 2010