Trifling existence
Every day I knocking on door of the dark hallway
of myself
Half of my time looking closely at pictures and half of spending in cry
Close the door and go back to
The trifling existence around me
Turn cone of the time on calm fire
Bloating until the conjunctivitis
Here I am collecting the old basements inactive things
All of them are new
since the clocks were stopped and everything were gone
and I......
In the trifling existence of my presence
Where no dream!
Making my dreams by papers boats
By paper planes... releasing on the coast of the memory
But I do not cry except with my self
When the dust of the waste land suffocates me
in the Trifling existence…… the city's streets
Is the minds laws Converted to all this mold jelly?
How? And the birds still chirping
And the waves clashing from the small window of the pictures
And the branches still shaking
Since the immemorial.......
Everything mocking on this Trifling existence
The presence….. the ruin....
Abdel-Aziz Haider
Baghdad 2010
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You have presented your deep feelings in the poem very well. Man is a trifling existence, he is like a bubble of water or an apparition here and then here not. If it had not been so, he would not have been an object of derision and laughter. His existence would have been saved and respected but now he is the victim of tyranny of big powers. I like your poem very much. The poem is rich both in thought and expression. Nice write. Please go to my poem 'WAR' and let me know what you think of it.