Poem by Sehma Helaa
The lost answer
Embattled by a bittersweet ride,
How could I swerve?
I lost the track of my tide
Deserted reefs are getting on my nerve.
Miles, have I trodden
To see what was ripped, and what was woven
And when you are not able to stand
You try to push the golden gate of heaven
You never know what ‘s behind that gate,
unwise choices stirred by the hand of fate
Carried just one question in your wallet
Is That smile upon life ‘s face true?
Could it be a sword or a bullet?
Carry my quest and look for an answer
Among the smooth stabs and the blunt dagger.
veering both sides and driving ahead
Craving for a clean road
Leading to where one can make his own bed
So that the slumber may occur
with a fragrant feeling spraying everywhere
Hence, without a blow without a blunt
I may fathom the pry I could not hunt
yet, I never know from which well I drink
which hope may soar
And which need may sink?
All that I know is I do know the blow
Of a restless soul, perplexed with what to sow
From my verse henceforth written
you can deduce the dexterity of a poet
borrowing from ‘Frost ‘ his road not taken
( sihem cherif)July the 9 th 2019