A Fancy Painting

I have lived for all of my life without a sister,
I could have survived and went on forever,
Without any trouble, nor a single disaster,
A fate is a fate; I couldn’t change a single matter,
She doesn’t like poems; neither is she a speller,
But smart and cute, enthusiastic and younger,
New feelings were pouring into me, cuz of her,
Feelings of having a new person, a new sister,
I kept my distance from her at about a meter,
Maybe cuz it’s my first time to sense a sister,
Not screaming and fighting against each other,
Neither pretending to be invisible, but rather,
Being next to me sharing a smile together,

We will sit on a hill at night in the winter,
Cold as it is, but we would share the heater,
Heater of my and her body embedded together,
Feeling comfort and secure will turn it into summer,
Under the shining stars we lighten forever.


Picked You From the Garden

Our story started when I had that famous meeting,
Do you remember? The time I had no seating,
The sun was fading bit by bit beyond the surreal horizon,
Revealing its last existence, its last peak via the mizen,
As if disclosing true beauty that should be spotted,
Deserved by few, ignored by most, constantly plotted,
You were exclusive, surrounded by the dullest colours,
To the extent that nothing can buy you, not even dollars.
… Glance.

I was dragged by the mob towards the mid of stage,
Exposed to the hundreds reading the correct page,
But doubt not, your being never faded my conscious,
Regular glimpses whilst talking, hence nor my subconscious,
Invaded by your utmost benevolence and attractiveness,
Moonlight reinforced by the dew increased your tenderness,
After ending my speech I strolled out towards the garden,
Found you, touched you, held you, released you, “pardon…”
… Disappear.

Picked you from the garden at around half-past-nine,
Without any resistance or moaning you became mine,
Finally we are home, you and me, completely alone,
Instantly you started to harden, as if becoming a stone,
It wasn’t even an hour and you’re leaving me in sob,
Approached you, touched you, fractured you; am I a slob?
Were you a ticking bomb exploding when it was just fine?
Or a bullet fired making holes in me, my heart and spine?
Sticking you together for a near funeral, my dear flower,
Slowly, I buried you in my diary without a header or a footer.
… Evermore.


The Minds of Two

I’m stranded on an island,
That’s far far away,
There’s no drop of water,
Nor a cup of milk,
How can I survive,
This hardship I’m going through,
How can I revive,
The wilderness of my soul,
It’s already over,
The moment I entered,
It’s already too late,
Once I have deceased,
Wishing to die once more!!

I’m stranded on an island,
That’s so close to me,
There’s a grain of sand,
And a frequent storm,
How can I perish,
From a world full of freshness,
How can I destroy,
Such a beautiful place,
It’s certainly not over,
As long as I breathe,
It’s never too late,
To overcome my desires,
Wishing to be revived again!!

12th December 2008

Déjà Vu of Long Years

Captured by two men in this train,
Following their orders without complain,
Manchester’s where I’ll take my leave,
It’s the next stop and a letter I’ll receive,
The train halts and the noises augment,
Exiting the vehicle with an extraordinary scent,
I’ve been here and here did I see her glowing face,
Here I saw her giggle and here I boosted my pace,
Pushing people aside and waiting at that spot,
There she kissed me and a kiss I never forgot,
Shaking her head waving her long hair left and right,
Strolling away whilst I try to keep her within my sight,
A beige and brown top and an autumnally green skirt,
Stunningly blended with her body; persons starting to flirt,
Fading away, turning her head, looking back; our eyes have met,
Last glances from far away glowing cheeks and I bet they’re wet.

A Déjà vu or the woman I see before my eyes?
Wearing a scarf and a heavy coat as if to disguise,
No, not her, but behind her the lady with long hair,
Looking at me with similar smile and the exact wear,
Running towards her pushing the busy crowd away,
But the two men grasped me as if I was the prey,
Struggling; but fruitless efforts and the growing tears,
Have made me lose her for seventy-two long years.

A Friendly Superpower

He sensed me. Happy I was. But,
He went away to another friend,
My brain cells started to shut,
Friendship came, at last, to an end.

Next day, he sensed my aggression,
Alert he was, but no question,
Neither suggestion,
Hence, I saw his depression.

He talked to me,
As if asking for forgiveness,
Trying to calm me,
For me he was pointless.

He begged even more,
For he was shocked and scared,
I squashed his head to the floor,
Even though he wasn’t prepared.

I am not mad,
Because I and scientists are alike,
I am not bad,
Because I’m similar to the Third Reich.

He ran along the pavement,
I imprisoned him in a tower,
For he was my enslavement,
Now I become a superpower.


This is one of my first decent poems, and it describes a story about a disturbed character. This theme was introduced to me during my 9th or 10th grade in school as we were analysing and evaluating poems related to disturbed characters.

Terminal Life

It is God’s Will to take my soul on this day,
I am ready to leave this ward, so try not to delay,
Surviving for extra years worsens my distress,
I just want my family beside me for me to express,
My gratitude for their care and for me to bless,
Memory deceived me, then you were here to assess.

It is God’s Will to take my soul on this day,
Leave me alone, it is over, so stop and go away,
My brain is well; my heart is ill going downhill,
Calling for the nurse and asking to remove this pill.

Again it happened and this time:
Widening my eyes; still in bed by a breath,
Enough doctor, stop prolonging my death.

6th of November 2008

A Woman and a Palestinian

Looking at them through my little window,
Seeing nothing but a dead body and a widow,
I cannot cease trembling as my heart starts to decay,
My dear son is murdered and my husband is away
In my own home and still experiencing the terror,
Slaughtering innocent persons; not a mistake nor an error,
Five days passed and countries celebrate New Year,
Ignorant humans are not crying, not even a tear,
Haven’t they heard of me, an innocent mother?
Or did they turn their back on me and not bother?
Everyone is requesting a ceasefire of this brutality,
But words are not actions reflecting nothing of the reality,
Occupied Palestine are destroying our pride,
Isn’t there anyone to help us and stand on our side?
They plan to massacre us whilst the rest of them hide,
And who the hell are they for them to decide?!

This poem is dedicated to the innocent Palestinian families murdered by the Occupied Palestine.