Portrait Of Kyrenia Poem by Alaa Elgadi

The coral mountains are natural inns,
Where all giants and elves stay without sins.
The vivid pine trees spectate the play of the sea,
And the red brick houses smoke their pipes with glee.
The tranquil rocks whisper about the scenario of the coast,
And those aristocratic cottages beneath have a salty toast.
The enthusiastic buses sway in the turns with the breeze,
Which warns Mr. Seagull to stop fishing in the freeze.
Then the silver carpet of the illuminating road,
And the nature's vivid colours are the shops' dress code.
This authentic town is a punctual beehive,
And even the pavements verily seems alive.
The women are mermaids have taken off their tails,
Their bosoms sigh hurrying to the late December sales.
The glittering windows brag about their antiques,
And the girls resemble the human roses in the boutiques.
When warmness goes back to its unique mini house at night,
The sugar powder wakes up with the sneezes of the Turkish delight
Here it is! The Colony Hotel which looks like a Christmas tart,
The children look at the Mercedes cars waiting for Santa's cart.
In the aromatic old quarters and along every narrow street,
There are some kisses echo loudly with impatient feet.
On the romantic tourist port, where food and music are nice,
And a conspiracy of kittens to save a fish and a lobster from the ice.
In a little café, the aromas of the Mediterranean Sea diffuse,
Through your coffee, iPad, and even from the facebook news.
In the morning, punctuality drinks English tea with the Cypriot bus station,
And the clean mini squares tempt the tourists with the doves' conversation.
On the back way, you cannot say 'farewell' to this breathtaking universe,
For you have seen the portrait of Kyrenia and you have read my free verse.