The Poet

THE POET By:Ali KHasbak The poet lies when he says "I am happy" He might be happy with the illusion in his realm of fantasy That is contradicted the truth of mornings As well as the bitterness of the daylights and the dearness of lonely might He is more happy with his pen and paper Trying to grasp as flower by its shape Or the blue sky by its color or even a childish smile Or the beauty reduced in a woman's face He is helpless wandering the graveyards Looking for a deep giggle Or piece of music Looking for ripe childhood A naked dancing femininity And the falling colors The poet is a grave mistake which is not committed by the life itself Cause he is a shadow of no one he is not recognized Plato They didn't define him by a name they didn't give him a status Not even recognized by the end list He created himself by himself And he is always lost among the crows Upon his death, The depressed and deprived ones become his readers. His words entertain the women who are looking for the knights of their dreams but in vain. He consumed a lot of outdated words Contemplating their corps So he cries. The world has eliminated him from the genetic maps ! Therefore we can not conceive the human being in what we see !