Agatha Christie Writes From Aleppo Poem by Mohammad Yousef

By Mohammad A.Yousef

In a dusty room,
with walls that whisper,
Agatha sits,
her fingers dancing over the keys,
like a bird caught in a storm.
The sun spills through the window,
its rays sifting through shadows,
painting stories on worn-out pages.

Outside, the streets murmur,
echoes of laughter and pain,
children's voices rising like smoke,
while the scent of spices drifts,
a rich tapestry of life,
woven with threads of history.
Aleppo, a city of stories,
where every stone holds a secret.

She looks out,
seeing the market bustle,
vendors calling,
colors splashing the canvas of the day.
Each face a story,
each glance a mystery,
and Agatha swirls them into her mind,
a pot of boiling intrigue,
ready to spill over.

Her characters take shape,
like shadows in the light,
a detective with sharp eyes,
a woman with a hidden past,
a stranger with a crooked smile.
They emerge from the chaos,
each one a puzzle piece,
waiting for the right moment to click.

In the quiet of her thoughts,
the world outside fades,
the clamor of life muffled,
as she crafts her tale,
a dance of motives and alibis,
of trust and betrayal,
each line a thread,
weaving a tapestry of suspense.

The call of the city
mingles with her words,
like a heartbeat,
pulsing through the pages.
She remembers the stories
her grandmother told,
of love and loss,
of courage in the face of darkness,
and she breathes them into her work.

The clock ticks softly,
a reminder of time passing,
but here, in this moment,
Agatha knows no bounds.
Her imagination roams free,
like the wind across the ancient walls,
carrying her thoughts to places
where the past and present collide.

And so she writes,
with each stroke of the pen,
the mystery deepens,
the plot thickens,
as Aleppo wraps around her,
a warm embrace of culture and chaos.
In this city,
where stories are alive,
Agatha finds her muse,
and she knows,
the heart of the mystery
beats loudest here.