Ali AlMajnooni

The Twenty-Fourth Hour - Poem by Ali AlMajnooni

At the twenty-fourth hour,
When nightly chants are scarcely sung
By the happy nightingale’s tongue
With a cunning power.

When the dark veils the globe,
And the moon casts its silver beams
Among filmy clouds where each seems
Like a descending rope.

When the wave comes and goes
Along pebbled shores to call me,
And the gentle breeze of the sea
Through windows softly blows.

And the drops of the dew
Form on the tender leaves of trees
As glassy beads that dwell at ease
In the bed of the blue.

My candle starts to wink,
And above my still desk I keep
Paper sheets lying in a heap,
And thirsty for some ink.

Listen to this poem:

Comments about The Twenty-Fourth Hour by Ali AlMajnooni

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Monday, March 31, 2008

[Report Error]