The Lane Poem by Hamza Al Saieedy

Behold it, such a moderate summer.
Rare are those cool winds at this time and place;
The south hath not any breeze more to show,
And those sweet wafts seems to be as the guest
As long as that wind carry on it gust.
Yon, from Kufa and Najaf into Dhi-Qar,
A road so long, but not a passenger
Lane, those routes are too lazy for a man
To fly with or to lie upon it pass!
If Babylon hath more good news to pay
Then this wind shall offer the love I want.
Ye that set his greatness in her design;
How I wonder if her cheeks ever fade?
So far still shine with more redden and glare.
Shall I gaze of her lips? Perfectly shaped,
These hand-made drawn lips; they kept me lost
In that well lineaments, staring, dreaming.
Though love clears that perfection and begets
Than such odious cuts those lovely flowers!
Yet; what the out-look would be with no heart?
Her heart is so sweet, but gray and yellow
She would figure any reason to hate
Thought I wish of the lass to act with fare
She judge people with their design and look!
Shall I keep my year dull and solitude?
Well, our days are ending then she's leaving
And our ache will rest upon calm soft clouds
O! does she shames me of the skin's color! ?
Humans return to the same two parents.
Made from water and dirt, Adam and Eve,
Then why all this empty silly fake proud?
For my likeness wasn't for that out-look,
It's all My heart in love with her one heart!