Sunday, May 22, 2022 | Shawwal 20, 1443 H
clear sky
weather
OMAN
33°C / 33°C
EDITOR IN CHIEF- ABDULLAH BIN SALIM AL SHUEILI

Migrants fleeing slaughter

khalidalbalushi@hotmail.com


Morning


The shadow of dawn grows


Before the threshold


The birds resort to strange places


Fear drives them to barracks


You hear only wings’ collision


Like migrants fleeing slaughter


It was a dark morning right from the start.


Friends


They reserve their seats in the morning


To smoke and drink coffee


As the words shine in their mouths


The tables are filled with


Absence.


Lantern


I daily see window’s injury


Illuminate the night


Like a lantern lighting the depths


Of human injury.


A Game


We weren’t heroes


We weren’t cowards


We were only ourselves


Playing dice with shooting stars


And sometimes hearing frog’s croaking


In a night whose remains began to die.


The Grave of Henry Barbusse


I lock the door and peek through


The hole of a storm


At the crowd.


I know after a while... the carnage will move


With all its details to my heart.


The Artist


Always will your works be born


Incomplete


They won’t finish


Save in the madness of a lost wave


Or in a head torn to pieces


By war.


Desert’s Bounty


The aged beg for a passerby’s smile


Their faces are our mirrors


In the camber of life


Their days hanging in memory


Like a hump facing the desert’s bounty.


The Bells Won’t Ring


The storm hasn’t subsided tonight


Before my door


Its five enemies slammed its directions.


In churches’ pale light


I see monks dragging vehicles


Running for mountains


With pedigree horses in the wind


As if they’re back to Byzantium.


In this ancient night


The bells won’t ring after today


The storm won’t cease.


Smell


Despite the weather


And its abundant clarity


The prey’s smell still tickles my throat.


The Blessing of Funeral Ceremonies and Summers


The bones of last night


I taste now like carrion


The blessings of funerals’ secret


In particular their delicious meals.


The summer about to leave us


Looks like that bird


Whose head was severed on a rock’s edge.


The parting we experienced in love


Was that of enemies and fighters.


I took solitude as destiny


Daily we compete in the garden


To win


“I was created but genial”.


SHARE ARTICLE
arrow up
home icon