No one writes about the sun
while it’s s waiting for us
on the other side of confusion.
Far away out there behind
the mountains of madness.
We stare into the mirrors
of each other’s faces
like dumb questions
feeding on the murder of meanings
hiding under the wing of blackness.
No one speaks of dawn
and its luminous redness
riding the distance like a wounded man.
Play to me and now, you rain drops
leaking from a ceiling so divine yon,
my ears died in my last battle
with the sounds of wolves going on
The night is as long as my cigarette tail.
I’m still far away
behind the mountains of madness.
I sit here calmly on anxiety’s hills
envisioning the ships of the sea
as if I were one among the starving seagulls.
No one writes about what he can’t see
as the sky descends with its blind curtains,
as waves return defeated like Roderic’s army.
I’m still far away
but facing invisibility.
No one climbs the abstruse necks
of the impossible and writes out light
the moment light is under the rubble so sick.
As the long hours play their treat or trick
I hunker down to receive the first beam
with patient eyes brimming with dream.
Rafik Romdhani, 2022
