Pretending that it was mine.
Tell me, how do you pity
Yourself without drooling?)
A still, a perfect calm
Dusty wooden floors
And melting snow
A day that isn’t happening
Just gone by
He pauses on the phone
And in the silence I hear
A sniffle sucked in
Until it has dripped, like mucus,
At the back of his throat
“It began with the two of us
And it will end that way”
I just didn’t think
It would be so soon
Brush the lint off your breath
And try to look somewhere
But everywhere you turn
It is the last day of summer
I dropped a street, a city, a country
On my way to bliss
But bliss had no address
Why don’t you feather
Those darling tunes of yours
And whistle them by my side
For I have forgotten the taste of bread
And tea and sugar in the morning
Just dream, a little bit more,
And think that it didn’t happen
That it doesn’t happen, and will not happen
Just dream that the night pulled back
And the balcony is rife
With basil blossoms
And hands still brush
Over their sweet sunshine
1 comment:
Astounding. Noble.
The whole of the first paragraph is ordinary. The idea of watching Life through a screen is good, and the last two lines are intriguingly puzzling, but the overall form is familiar, nothing awing.
The first three lines of the second paragraph are good (the second paragraph is overall better than the first) as they portray the mood/ setting with good sensitivity. "A day that isn’t happening/ Just gone by" is too used by you. What follows is very good because in it you are capturing some very good and very sincere detail, I can almost picture the feller (alright, I do). The last three lines of the second paragraph are not outstanding, but they are pretty Dalidish.
Now the last paragraph. Ah the last paragraph!
Just as I was saying to myself that the first two lines are nice, my head was blown off by "But everywhere you turn/ It is the last day of summer". This is amazing, wonderful, powerful, lovely, fresh, intellegent, patriciously delicate. It is the peek of your poem, to me. "I dropped a street, a city, a country/ On my way to bliss/ But bliss had no address" follows very well, it is not the hearthrob that it predecessor is, but it is very sensitive, powerful, and Dalidish. It has strong tune and theme. In the triplet that followed, I think "darling" weakened the effect, maybe because one uses it in a cheerful state, for it cheers the place up like the colour fuchia, and here you are not exactly elated. "For I have forgotten the taste of bread/ And tea and sugar in the morning" is exquisite, though the fact that I know which unconscious source inspired you bugs me (Mahmoud Darwiche's Ummi). The triplet following does not add much to my faculties. The last five lines are astounding. They portray such a lovely, delicate, nocturnal image that I know comes from Andalucia. It ends the whole very successfully and clearly. Very good, very well- written.
Ton frère Ahmad
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