Arthur... (Lebanon) Contact the author
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Impale my being
Light fragmented its ray on the hill of your breast. My eyes
inundated with the heavenly cinnamon colour of your skin,
wept pointy kisses. Who are you but a nymph freely
swinging between the eyelashes of an orgasm! Who are you
but a fissure timidly yawing before the advent of my cane!
Who are you but a laugh echoing in the mouth of my
humanity! Who are you but an obsession! A string of your
saliva slips thickly in my throat. When my raft tangos with
the sound of your primal scream and undulates with the
waving of your thighs, your sea spray splashes my face. I
seep between your lips. Impale my being at the pinnacle of
your rosy tongue. Let me pepper the freckles of forgotten
time on the canvas of the starless night. What if you ride
a shooting star to land on the other side of my scream?
Love me revolvingly. Night and day. Skim my past and give
birth to my salty birth certificate
Who is she
Who is she?
She came from nowhere....
Followed the walls of solitude....
Scribbled fables on bullets.......
Scream of fire........
Childhood regurgitating the sun.......
She held the shroud of silence.......
Covered the face of departure.....
She did not want to be seen.....
She wanted to be heard.........
She used the words the same words......
Bread......Flour......bread....flour
She had pebbles in her mouth....
And a revolution in her left eye.......
The right eye was burying the retina of hope.......
She was a city....
She was a pity
Child
Thorns sawing words
Child regimenting laughters
Withered petals on holy tears
Child whipping lashes
Earth regurgitating the umbilical cord of childhood
Child chewing wars
Verjuice gushing from the breast
Child crying rimes
Sheetless bed flogging ancient screams
Child spitting curtains of doves
Floor sealing steps
Child fathoming echo
Wingless sky hovering above an opened mouth
Child skewing fears
Hands catching silence
Child castrating alphabet
Formal Unlawful Carnal knowledge
In bed...Naked...The night was inking few stranded
stars...A satin shawl dimming the light sitting on her
bedside table. The wedding between the light and her shadow
is celebrated on the front wall. My worn body propping a
chair in the corner...Away from the mute dance of the
shadow light...She was staring at me...I could count the
freckles of fragmented light on the surface of her
skin...As if she were agremented by shooting stars...Her
legs intertwined the sheets...Thighs, Roman marble...The
ripples of the white sheet grew grapevine between her
legs.. Genesis... Eve at the eve of the Capital Sin...The tree
of knowledge was rattling voluptuously...Muffled sound of
lust...Her hands geographising her turf...Her fingers
smelling the scent of my sinful thoughts...Her hair fanned
on my deserted pillow...The night fell on it...The whiteness
of her eyes became my beacon...Her lips named
me...Mutely...My lips remained tightly closed...Why open
them when what needs to be said can be caressed? A caress
is to the skin what the movement of a caterpillar is to a
fig leave...A communion of erotism...
Her hair
The wooden comb sliding on a hairfall. The teeth of her
comb olive oiling the curtain of my face when I sleep next
to her. Charcoal has tinted her hair so the veil of the
night will not be revealed. It cascades to her hips. And as
the combing movement progresses it washes the hips
delicately with an indelible breath of passion. Her right
hand nonchalantly armed with the comb plough through the
first sign of seduction. She closes her eyes. Titls her
head. Shakes her hair. The dust of her lovers flew. The
printed kisses frittered. The mirror reversed its
reflection. It became the other side. The hair reaches the
ray of her thighs. Black and white. Contradicting forces.
Receding lines. Day and night. The crescent descended and
became a full moon to hold her hair up in the procession of
my dream.
She was reading me
I gave meaning to her sight...She gave meaning to my
words...I wrote her yesterday today...She wrote me today
yesterday...We knew we never belonged to one another...We
are arms reaching for the emptiness of depth...Her lips
murmured my words...Instilled her soul in the vowels...My
arms are a book cover...My life is smeared with black
letters...She folds me and puts me on her lap...In return I
reshuffle my story...I long to her hands to wipe the
particles of time off my back...I want to hear her voice
when her brow eyes add their colour to the rainbow of my
echo...What if she is mute? What if I am a fable? What if
her hands are handcuffed by a ring? What if my pages are
mere manuscript of my dead sea? And I float in the air of
despair...The invisible string attached to her index...And
the merry-go-round of insanity causing nausea to my
logic...I wish every word of my book will be erased
simultaneously as it is read by her. Thus my story will be
as white as a dove before it nosedives into the cage of
oblivion
The black path
It was early morning...This sun was still languishing under
the thin line of the sea...The sky was an anarchy of
colors as if painted by a psychedelic...Her legs pushed
the blanket that kept her secrets of the night warm...Her
arms imitated the crucified...Her bosom offered its
plenitude to the fresh air slyly filtering through the
crevasses of the walls
Silently contemplating me...She reached for me...elevated
me to her lips to dissipate the taste of the night...rested
me next to her...turned towards the window looking for the
sun to shake the weightiness of her body...stretched her
arm towards me.....grabbed me...admired the arabesque lines
running through my contours...I can see her parted
lips...Dormant volcano...I am their black larva...she
sipped me skimpily...My elixir slipped smoothly between her
lateral fleshy barricade...Swirled inside her
mouth...ointed her mouth...rinsed her teeth...got churned
by her tongue...and descended into her throaty vortex.
She turned me upside down...My dregs worms its way...no
established order...I am at the beck and call of Fate...I
go right and left...I make a bee line...I twist at will...I
jealously hold on to the remainder of my origin...I slowly
draw the lines of her destiny...I am her Nostradamus...I
try to stay languished at the bottom...I have the marks of
her lips on my rim...I insert nota bene between her black
path...I am her cup of coffee. I am her black book......Her
fate
The toothless smile...
The toothless smile of my stolen humanity
The martyr square
Going in circles
The roundabout
rounding the ankles
Of beloved pedestrians
Sea sea-saws
Between one-eyed pebbles
And nudity of a sentiment
Nails lacerating the sky
Screams macerated in the mercury of defeat
My city
An eel
My body macadamised
Children shoes breaking their soles on me
White socks
Holed souls
What to become
What have I done not to become
The wound that demarks her left leg from the right
What have I done not to become
A petal leaning on the trunk of an immortal tree
I do not want to be what I am
I am what I want to be
And let me be
The knife cutting the veins of treason
The barbwire to my own exodus
The toothless smile of my stolen humanity
Agony
Thanatos conquered the birth of the moment
Eros succumbed to lust
Loquacious silence sat in the middle of the distance
Isochronal oscillation of a suffocated heart clawing back
from the past
I am a reptile interlacing the vine branch of a dried tear
The scalpel of death is geographising her body
Worms waiting
Her sepulchral shadow feasted my light
Alphabetic mistress
Sprawling on the tarmac of nothingness
Insults browning her departure
Solitude
Different meaning
To be with her without being under her spell
To watch the concentric fume of beheaded illusions
The blackness of the chasm
Faded on my firmament
My conscience bemused
By the passage of time under the viaduct of deluged tears
Her lips not far from mine
Shook the defeated verb
The door of pain exploded
The vase fell
One step forward toward
The wound that is no longer smiling
Past keeled over
My life dejected me
Her future defecated my present
The Finale of a Shadow
Packed my alphabets
Laced the shoes of my departure
Whispered my testament to a deaf nation
Blinded myself to no longer hear the scream of insanity to
no longer sense the depth of misery
From now on I will be holding my parchemined cane and I
will embrace the memories of all those I met all those who
read me all those who inspired me
Bye to all