AA (23/04/1959 / BLIDA)

ص د ا ع

ش ي ء م ا ا ت ى ب ع ب ي ر ه ا ش ظ ا , ب س م ة ا س ت ل ق ت ع ل ى ا ل ش ا ط ى ء ا ل ا ز ر ق
ش ى ء م ن م ا ا ت ى ب ض و ض ا ء ا ل خ ر ي ف و ع م ت ا ل ب ر ا ء ة
ض ح ك ة ف و ق ا ل م و ج ا ل ا ش ق ر .
م ن ذ ا و ذ ا ك ر ي ح ا ن ذ ا ب ف ي ح ض ن ك و ك ب ا ل م ش ا ع ر .
ت ج م د ت ط ل ا ل ا ل و ر د و ر ا ء ض ل ا ل ا ل غ ر و ب و ب ق ي ط ي ف ه ا ي ت د ل ى ي م ي ن ا و ش م ا ل ا ب ي ن م ق ل ت ي
م ن ذ ا ا ع ت ر ف
ا ر ت ج ف ت س ق ا ي م ن س ك ي ر ع ف و ه ا خ ط ف ف ؤ ا د ي ف ي ك ب ر ي ا ء ا ل ه و ى .
و ا ن ج ل ى خ م و د ا ل ر ح ي ق م ن ف و ق ر ي ا ح ا ل و ا د ي .
م ن ذ ا ك ق ه ر ت س ط ي ع ا ل ق م ر
و ب ا ت ا ل ي ل ي ق ح م ن ي ف ي ج ح ي م ا ل ص م ت
ا ل م ق و ت ه ص ر خ ة ح ت ى ا ل م و ت .
ع ن د م ا ي ت ا ل م ا ل ن ا س .
س ر ه م ا ل ل ا م ت ن ا ه ي ص م ت ر ه ي ب ي ق ف ا م ا م ك ص ا م د ا .
ف و ق م خ ا ل ب ق ا ر ب ا ل س ن ي ن
ش ا م خ ا ح ت ى ا خ ر ص خ ر ة ج م و د ا ل ث ل ج ع ل ى خ د ي ه .
ي س ت د ي ر و ي ض ع ح ن ي ن ق ل ب ه ع ل ى ك ف ي ه
ح ت ى ل ا ي ف ه م و ي ش ع ر
ب ق س و ة ا ل ا ل م .
س ر ه ح ق ي ق ة ل م ن ل ا م ش ا ع ر ل ه م ب غ ث ي ا ن م ط ر ا ل ا ل م .
ل م ن ذ ا ك ر ت ه م ا ح س ا س ب ص و ت ا ل م س ت ق ب ل ا ن ا ن ي ة ب د و ن م و ق د .
ا ط ي ا ف ا ل ب ه ج ة ا ل ا ف ي ا ل د ن ي ا ا ل غ ر و ر ا ل ف ا ن ي ة .

Something came with his parfum, lying on the beach smile Blue
Something of what came the noise of the fall and swept the patent
Laugh over the blond waves.
Of this and basil that melted in the lap of the planet feelings.
Talal frozen flowers and the sunset behind the error spectrum, and remained hanging to the right and north between the pair of
From a recognized
Sagaa trembled from the hijacking drunkard pardoned pride in my heart desires.
Two sons and a depression of nectar from above the valley winds.
Of that subdued Stia moon
The Night Pat Ikhmana in the hell of silence
Cry of pain magnitude to death.
When people suffer.
Glad infinite silence stands before you, steadfast.
Over the years, the claws of a boat
Towering rock until the last freeze ice on his cheeks.
Nostalgia turns and puts his heart on his hands
So as not to understand and feel
Severity of pain.
The fact that his secret feelings of those who do not have pain, nausea rain.
Their memory for those who sense the future, selfish voice without a stove.
Shades of joy in this world, but mortal vanity.

by AID Abdelhakim

Other poems of ABDELHAKIM (10)

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