Sahar Noumi | + Follow Poet |
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Misery Remedy

And whenever that bare voice narrows,
he drinks in doses of old music
and throws the shards of his distorted thoughts into the trash,
and stops his heart’s bleeding with a knife.
He roams the empty city scape,
the muddy alley of the neighborhood, painting his lungs in smoke,
and continues to gather the scent of the corpses of his words
and piles them in a cesspool.

It is past noon, into night and dawn.
If he obeys and arrives, he will soon approach sunset,
and the darkness will be extinguished.
But if he refuses, the bleeding of his mind continues,
the flow of words from me prolonged,
and silence will continue to hammer my ears and tear them apart.
The fire will burn in my soul, and ice will freeze my heart.

Then stone flows into the river of our garden, 
breaking the water and shattering the air,
defying the laws of physics, where butterflies grow and bloom,
and roses swim in our sky, from butterfly to butterfly.

There, we listen to the calm of chirping branches,
above the wings of birds of repentance,
watching from below the mountain peak,
how the stars of our land fade, yet will not extinguish the darkness.

In this world, armies practice love instead of war,
exchanging showers of perfumes and bullets of kisses,
and when they attack, they dance and inevitably win,
to rejoice in drinking music at night and consuming books in the morning.

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