… In unknown directionsIf they are just admitted to exist;coloured pencils besides the plentyof toys ahead.All, came to minor characterIn some improvised show.Sidewalks slide , likegym running machinesfor the spoiled pet, whose foot fallsEcho, as randomas the curses that thrown down,from staggering pedestrian.
Author: A. R. Jwailie
A son of a carpenter who inherited the craft, and had to quit the job.
EX (XIV)
A Troy’s horse like, gloomSuffocative in a room of mirrorsWhile otherness is not around.No numbers, letters, colors, scents…Or it is just the presence of totally mistaken unknown, perceptions As though being pushed from some tree homeScratching tin with nails and teethA taboo after another, along…That was long before you reached for that self-cloning, and me,… Continue reading EX (XIV)
Friday Baker’s Dozen EX.
Neither reality nor vacuumget that destined to be troddenworn out sickening the metaphor.Some pass by glancesat the slow-spinning triangleabout some stretching circumferences,A sort of watching, other than flies.Being over flooded with popcorn, hardlythrough countable leaksrise as thin as thread“Mercy, Enuma Elish!”No vacancy for complains, exceptfor a living room tablecircled around by the base of the… Continue reading Friday Baker’s Dozen EX.
EX (XII)
Shifting sides! Braille again, is scattered all over the fingerboard as seasonally. Pleased by, this time an autistic’s pole spun around by random schizophrenic characters in improvised windmill fighting stages. Some talk about a Ms. Right, in nursery, as she trainsp the same team of lefties. Goodness! Leaks! There are these thin beams of light… Continue reading EX (XII)
تبليط بحر
ببابكَ !يا بهاءَ الحضور ببابِ القرية قُربَ مرفإٍ ترْدِمُ مياهَه يابسةٌ عَجْلى و كانت الومضة بدايةً يا بهاءْ كن قريناً في هذه الحُلكة خندقاً في منجم رخام لمن تجيء على مضض عُمُراً في مهدٍ بلا تهويدة ضمن، حجارةٍ على جنبٍ تومئ إلى اعلام الطريق كأني أغيب و يُوحى اليّ، أنني غَيابةٌ و أنّا، لا نُلقي،… Continue reading تبليط بحر
EX (XI)
Something to wonder, how to handle! Claiming what meant to deny, Those who can’t see, don’t ask either: “How scarce it is!?” Lightly, though it does tread on the same temporal ground. -I’m on! Blind for an eye to steer At hands, as also over the glass table fragments of frittering times, diminishing chronometers that… Continue reading EX (XI)
مناجاة واقع
و لا تزال تضيق الدوائر، و غيرها في الخفاء متعاكسا يتسع جدران عارية تود بغير النجوم أن تستتر هل تنطّعنا لنكتب أو نرسم أو أن حتى نحتفل.. هل ما في يُنقلُ الينا- من بهاءٍ يراه الدهماء، قبل النخبة.. اصبع يخط على الرمال و آخر يحشو قنينة زجاجية ، هنا بدل القلم جُماعُ العشر.. نتمعّن مراتب… Continue reading مناجاة واقع
EX (X)
Like, a good ole Indian, I only tell no tale Keeping humming silence, disturbing Not a neighbor next to my tomb. Pain used to be a thing, no wonder how it turns to pleasing flames, temporary meals for other suckling kittles Maybe, a tumor some had to cut, properly to find, they are just another… Continue reading EX (X)
EX (IX)
When a peacock feather is a favored kippah shadows are scattering all around the walking poles As many as the lamp posts above, and as much as the confined eruptions on their shoes- Don’t we have to calm down, At this age, we’re still quarreling with cones of ice-cream! It worth no mention for every… Continue reading EX (IX)
EX (VIII)
An itching to strike another, before the illusion of being the last one gets extinguished. A lit butt in the crowded cell of no lighter shadows, smoky silhouettes, and maybe ghosts exchange butts’ embers, long after the cell lights were off. A worn-out kid in the corner shakes “what’s fair in this!” With fellow exclaimers,… Continue reading EX (VIII)
Scale Fixing 