Treasure Island

Yehudah HaLevi

(1075 - 1141 / Andulusia)

The Apple


You have enslaved me with your lovely body;
You have put me in a kind of prison.
Since the day we parted,
I have found nothing that is like your beauty.
So I comfort myself with a ripe apple—
Its fragrance reminds me of the myrrh of your breath,
Its shape of your breasts, its color
Of the color that used to rise to your cheeks.

Submitted: Friday, May 06, 2011
Edited: Saturday, May 07, 2011

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Apple by Yehudah HaLevi )

Enter the verification code :

  • Mohammad Akmal Nazir (5/6/2011 8:39:00 PM)

    Nice poem. Very well conceived. Rich in imagery and style. Fine poetics. I rate it 10.
    Thanks for sharing.....
    Please read and rate my poem 'A humble complaint' on page 2. Please use the search box by typing the name of the poem if the page doesn't open with the title of the poem. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Rhythm's Of Propensity, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  2. PREDATORS 10 WORDS, Beryl Dov
  3. The two laughs of a toddler, Kaki Venugopala Rao
  4. *IX*- To Love, Leslie Guylee Cron
  5. Making A Nation, Tony Adah
  6. Two Moons, Akhtar Jawad
  7. If James T. Kirk wrote a poem, Gouda Moon
  8. Who wants that Catch-22?, Mark Heathcote
  9. yup, Mandolyn ...
  10. Jessica, Prophmatt . . .

Poem of the Day

poet Alfred Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]