Poem by Moaen Shalabia
Night and wine and woman
My wooden home
has two windows opened to their limits
and shadow of a woman inflaming the distance
I look upon the sea on the wake of the evening
and upon a glass of wine
stirring the echoes.
My wooden home has the smell of dew
and the shape of a soul in the palm of a blur
in our wooden home there is an aged jar
and a thirsty butterfly haunting me
into the futility of speech.
It is you.
and for a while I’ve been looking in you for my death
here you are, and this taste is monstrous
exploding in me a volcano
and inflaming in me my sails.
Here you are
and in your eyes a storm of drunkenness
oh, you hug and burn and fill and spill me
wine over my crematorium
so, don’t ever change and be oh a woman
destroying all my kingdom
and embrace me as a bottle
that danced on the belt of a storm
thus, the flame of its wine burns me into poetry
for an ultimate heat and a Kama Sutra glass
cover all my questions.!!