By: Ahmed Al shiekh
who sketches his beloved with the chalk of poetry upon the pages of dawn,
and with the first drop of dew…
his rhyme is struck by a ‘fit of longing’.
Or like one who drinks his dawn coffee…
with a froth of sorrow.
Or like one who runs along the edges of his poems,
despite the melody’s grievous break.
Or like one who casts his fishing line into the sea of silence,
hoping to catch a few moments of joy,
only to discover he is lost in a desert that refuses to end.
Thus the heart stands alone…
at the window of reproach,
waiting for an absent one who never comes,
and refusing to let the memories fade away.
