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outdated words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 !
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