Meghzouchene's poetry

59. Ginster

My donna,
we will grow older,
with white hair
and shrunken skin,
but our shared love
will never age and wane.

My Cinderella,
my two rough hands
have been your shoes
you've so liked to fly with.
I'm your haremless prince
whom you've accompanied
despite pennilessness.

My bas bleu,
your constant bravos,
in my writings,
have kept my pen wet
and spirits high.

For all your steel attention,
I bow the struggling verses
for you and you and you.
Heartfelt thanks!

60. Standing fig tree

Outside olive-drab chalets,
in the barren ground,
stood a green-leafed fig tree.
An islet of life amidst
immense surfaces of sterility.
We'd got a rota watering it,
its budding life gave us faith
of homing in on peace.
Every leaf that fell off
meant for us a killed soldier
somewhere in battle fields.
Runnels of tears were shed,
streaming toward the fig tree.
As an infallible consolation,
it budded another leaf overnight.
(An injured recovered somewhere.)
When figs became plump,
none of the brassy soldiers
had tried to reach up them.
The soil sustaining that fig tree
was awash of mates' blood.
Birds pecked at the unwanted figs,
then flew away the nightmare.

61. The gamut of emotions

Poets talk a little
but write too much.
Speaking agitates the air.
Writing turns out after
climax of cogitation with incubi.
Verses are like fossils,
scooped out like oil,
mimicking aeons of succumbed
emotions, be it love,
despair, chagrin or treat.
It's absurd to believe
that poets compose to live.
They, rather, weave words
into a rope of hanging,
for poets are just valued
once they're on the verge
of inscribing their epitaphs
and preparing digging stuff
and setting the sieve tears!

62. Precipitate kisses

In the beach,
to swim or not
relies on which
colour is waived:
green, orange or red.
Likewise, your lips
feature three tones:
white, rosy or red.

Beach's red
debars swimming
while lips' red
craves for drowning!

Beach's green
warrants safe swim,
while white lips
vies with whitecaps!

Beach's orange
calls for wary swim,
and your rosy lips
make mine floating
cosily on yours!


Belkacem MEGHZOUCHENE