Walid Khazendar Poems

Best Poem of Walid Khazendar

Half The Night
His touch is wheat
when with tired hands he taps on our shoulders,
and a cypress rises in his silence
because he does not complain.
We did not understand grains then.
We did not understand dew.
He used to share a loaf of bread, like a miracle, among us
and share his days and commandments.
Keep . . .
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Night Is A Flash
He doesn't know where
this door leads
nor why the plants around him
are yellowed and drooping.
What confuses him most
are the roses
thirsty, silent, nonchalant
intimately clutching their colours.
The horses on the wall
are tired and grey
almost blackened by the clouds.
Why is . . .
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