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AbdelAziz Alhaider

Rookie (in that biue planet......that called earth / within the time of the sad creation)

The coming back to zero point

The coming back to zero point
Abdul Aziz Haider

He was creeping with the time
Extending with the time
In the depth of shaggy
Dealing with a dinner of algae dusty wet with dew
All the time in the picture of flower and cup
Two fingers in one hand
one hot wind
from suns of the truth was in their faces
together….they became single word in a poem, jumping between the lines
Or a flying feather in clear skies
the growth was rattling between the ribs of the trees
The ribs of the traveler
In the growth of the Wave
In the regression of the slope of the hill
A panic wake me up
Fork of pointed heads pinching the waist side
the waist side that is trying to lay with tired shoulders
Accuracy.... accuracy…. the black anxiety wings tinnitus inters to the cave of strangers
Absorbs the water of the freshness
And aims the body of the question with fire .. Throws it with the stones
Which sound returning from the far run time? ? ... from the near falls back to the memory of grass….
Included in the murmur tones and the flapping of the wings
swish of palm leaves
... in the silence applies at the
middle of the night
Envelops long alleys with shadows
paleness...... Poverty and nudity
it was between me and the escalation time, intimate.... and we exchanging its games and puzzle
I was at some minutes... hours… go upstairs… crawling to the top deep in fare away
Behind a deer... a single glimmering …bluish
Cloud for the celebrations
Beach for dancing
returning from them disheveled and dusty
my memorable is spiders houses
Alone to the side of the desert…. sand
withdraw from my black self..... winded by hot sadness
withdraw to lost cities
to the pile of vacuum leaking from
from swing of the sad memories
from love going deeply into
the oldness..
the oldness of the gardens celebrates the lovers
with the birds in its thickly branched trees
with madmen are reading under its shades
The Sheikh of time
scraping the roots of his white beard
Sometimes smiling...other shaking his head as soft yes
Agreeing with some anxiety which rising from the sea lung
from the burning breath of the poet
Suddenly the night came down
throwing his cloak on the two faces
Myth is returning …. zero.....
I and the time
Now we are filling with terrified from the soles of boiling tar
to the slope of howling Torrent
coming back to zero go deeply into
the bone
The silence between the ribs,
Crackling of the break in the spirits
Dear poetry ! ! return the balance to my steps
Do not be cruel like the face of the city reject their tired sons all the time
raise me up from the funeral of the time
I am a captive of the debauchery …..my lord
The coming back to zero is my death
Do not leave me for the tide
Take my hand
Now a rising
Go up to the visions

Baghda d

Submitted: Monday, February 06, 2012

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