Meghzouchene's poetry

by Belkacem Meghzouchene Fri Sep 23, 2011 10:29 pm

70. Hold on... forever

The phone rang.
Thrice, exactly.
You said: "Hold on."
One second.
One minute...
Ten minutes...
One hour...
One day...
Two days...
(Battery's out;
I recharged it.)
Resumed holding on.
...
One month...
One year...
One decade...
Senility at doors.
Death near bed.
Still, holding on,
in the last home.
(lifeless, wireless.)
Heart rang off,
line was dead,
like the receiver,
forever.

71. Dews of luck

Things we run after,
seriously and vehemently,
slip away of our sight
before our hands reach them.
Then, hands hallow out
the sand of our rout.
Recumbent life drives us
to count all the grains
of our missed cupidity.
And Stupidity ISO-something!
Someone has one drop of luck,
another a few drops,
another a bucket of it,
another a pond of it,
another a Nile of it,
another an ocean of it.
Who is the luckiest?
The one-drop folk!
Why?
Luck isn't a question
of volume; but rather,
it's a question of quality.

72. Seeds of change

Sudden spring love
wrinkles your mirror
out of sheer jealousy,
denying your lit face.

73.
Between stones

Valleys don't
look the same.
Indeed.
Lights of the road
caressed me well,
in wait of stars;
lagging stars.
Valleys' stones asked me:
"Why is your heart
a stone incarnate?"
I replied:
"Where's your river?"
Stones got embarrassed.
I went on,"My heart is stony,
for it's sere and all sore."
No water of love.
I want to console
time-smoothed stones,
which are looking forward
to their limpid liquid of renewal.

Belkacem Meghzouchene