Wednesday, July 13, 2016

Three in one, my latest poems here

One River it would bestow the nation

Night passed and we wait another
As dark as you can't see your palm
A man came whispering between the trees
He logged but scything bushes as a meteor
Aspherical shape and the ground is wetted
Balanced into two ways then it fogged
A yellow dress put on as that grass faded
It comes, he said on a faint voice
The wagon which carrying the half-corpus
And this end would have two ways opened 
Garrulous into his speech but often nodding
He said, the north, would keep you go on
While the south, will keep you going down
These dichotomies had been engraved
On your faces since you were born
And this tree I would keep to be a shade
To whom dismissed and being homeless
Therefore, dearest sons I am your uncle
His face is spherical like the full moon
Looks like Shatt al-Arab when plodded
In One River, it would bestow the nation
The life art

As two eyes above hanged in one's way
Keeping aside not to glimmering one day
I so far keep my emotion of those blonds
To see my heart captured fetching stay
I can't reckon on eyes being smart 
While in deep piercing a smoothable part
This way is often trodden by softy legs
And it is since ancient years the life art
Can't you promise giving me a new soul?
Then I into pleasure hear my solo fall
Come and drink up until you satisfy
I am not your beverage as a given dole
Tread upon my grave near that wooded lake
And give your cattle the way a time you awake  
That huts you passed are my letters of proof
And any Holy word it may on opposite shake.


Death at the zone of sun

Severe bloodshed and the matter is serious
My Iraq is on the brink of creeping danger
Innocent people could say hi to who answer
And the fate is ominous comes on heads down
As the wind when smoothed the ground
Whispering under the tool of those vulgar
The honest of them is either bagger or burglar
Dark nights and the moon has a dim shadow
And the stars being clinched on high skies
Sending blazes of blasts mixed with fires
Sparkling down and up the mouths of rivers   
And the soul of ego is implanted between rips
It could be never washing the salty bodies
And a sparrow might be frightened going abroad
As a migrant who never thought to come back
While its bough shaking and crying
A flake of sorrow welcoming the dawn
And a man in that side going frozen
To those still at north having no desire
But crumbled on cities as blind nation