Meghzouchene's poetry

by Belkacem Meghzouchene Fri Sep 23, 2011 5:27 pm

67. Stay simple

All the Cold spines of cacti,
saying an unostentatious "hi",
belittle the arrogant thorns
of all gardens' roses
with their false splendor.
Vaingloriousness scaffolds
the long-necked humans,
who begrudge zeniths
of fugacious standing.
Stay simple, feet aground,
kicking the stones of demise,
instead of collecting them
for one's smothering extinction.
Life can be built
by sticking to its mud.

68. Dust of love

Dust on heart
is extremely thick.
And I'm too sick.
I urge you, Lady,
to not drench it.
Let this dust
like it is now:
dry and dry and dry.
You wonder why?
To spray dust
back on all
the forgotten furrows
of our olden paths;
the past recovers, thus,
its virginity and zing.
Stay away, Lady,
as you used to be,
when your winds
catered for dust,
by days and nights.
Dust is my trophy.

69. Love in
duplicate

Every time I meet
in my life
a familiar face,
resembling amazingly to you,
I feel strings of ire
strangling my droopy neck.
I ceased to love you,
long long long ago.
I've forgot your frame
sine you chose the shame.
A face, reminiscent of you,
is unbearable to heart
you used to hurt with art.
Bitten once is enough

for me, you see, Lady?

BM