Georges Schehadé Poems

Firstly behind the roses
there are no monkeys
...

To the child who runs in a forest full
of silken whistles
I say that I prefer
...

There are gardens that no longer have countries
and are alone with the water
doves cross them blue and without nests
...

To find again the body and soul of childhood
in a quiet room lit with thieves
my hands are light whenever I think
...

When all was asleep at the faithful house
and the wardrobes with the ages of grapes
a shadow leaf trailed on the ground of the doors
...