Poems by Mohamed Shady
This cry ..
Behold.. For death ..
Then, who is destined for spring timings .. For the migration of the question? This is the song of genesis ..
On her hand .. Thus you be …
When you scribed the almighty’s address on the envelope .. Little did you know
The courier didn’t know .. Prayers, didn’t he not know …
He did not pay attention to the name of he whose lights were lit .. On the face of the orphan river..
Attempt ended in failure .. So.. When they were about to reach for you ..
No sobbing .. until, when you saw her eyes .. Begging them ..
To leave her home .. Immune of their stabbing ..
Directed .. Toward your chest …
You were their slack merchandise .. .. Just wanted to leave before the conclusion
Yet.. When she met your eyes ..
She paid them, in tears ..
Joyously, did she walk away, having you .. ..
She hid you in velvet, dwelling her spirit.. ..
Closed the doors, before you ..
Opened up her chest ..
A diamond, she gave you ..
Crowned you ..
It was then, when you became .. Her Ring …
Whenever you came out to them ..
They threw you back ..
Bored of you, the ocean became..
Thrown in her lap ..
As She embraced you .. You start to glow ..
Circling around you, they were ..
Snatched by their eyes .. You extinguished ..
She washed you, with her spirit ..
Breathed light, unto you ..
You were unseen .. On your resurrection..
She had her Fiesta..
Once upon a wound..
A talkative vein.. murmured the lost tales of an alienated heart..
Last of a long parchment of untold pains..
A teardrop falling from the distant star..
Tendering a hard soul.. whose name is whispered in fear of lust..
Once upon a wound..
You lived.. in a life.. filled with agony..
Nothing remains.. but a scar.. tells you existed..
Once upon.. a wound…
When will you declare the abandon of your castles ..
whenever you are invaded by nostalgia ..
you draw a dagger ..
named after one of those, who passed through you
slid it gently ..
Between the folds of the soul?
started to collect drips ..
A glass ..that will not quench your thirst ..
Maybe .. if you erase names ..
this blade will sing..
you become the rain ..
of a cloud..
pregnant.. with Silence ..
Your face has a chart..
not to be read.. except by.. he who had experienced you..
tear.. by tear..
Those who claim you..
How come they think.. they can cross your soul..
with the use of satellite, computer and pre-made charts..
with no need of a tracer..
someone who have walked you.. all along..
till the deepest wound..
enough to be capable of seeing you..
The moment of the revelation of the poem..
Is the withdrawal of the blade..
From your soul..
Absent Is pain..
Nothing is left..
But a glimpse of light..
That once stained the soul…