the warble of birds
in summer -
at my balcony

Raghda

in the midst of the desert
city-
empty streets
hollow caves
ghostly temples

a post card

with secrets and tales
of ancient remains

out of sandstone
waterways carved
going along blindly
with the stream of thoughts ..

I am now
lost.
in what 20,000 Nabateans
have once left behind

here she comes

"are you looking for that man in a blue t-shirt?"
"yes" is my reply
surprised!
a hot day and many tourists
at the entrance,
a friend had bought a blue t-shirt

"he's inside that room" she points
"shoukran"
I want to buy
a postcard she is selling
but
"I have no cash"

her name was Raghda

we chat
exchanging memories
Raghda's brother comes
"go", she says, "these people
aren't foreigners, they are from here"

yes, we are from here ..
and she was as well - smart
doing her job
mastering the hot spring air
finding a way
through this maze of millennia
to serve dinner every day

she,
the lively face of the rose-red city

she,
the wonder of Petra .

I will come again -
the song of the snowman ..

with a compass in his hand,
he speaks about
love

Does forgiveness exist ?

Nature breathes furiously.
Dry clouds in the sky.

Behind the walls of modern technology
They listen to the heartbeats of blues.

Tomorrow is the last exam at school.
No one wants to be poor.

Can't you see ? ..
Nature won't forgive us.

The moon is a mummia
Lying on the top of a black box .
Holes waiting to be filled
With new dead souls.

But let me go and water
The pink cyclamen, shining
Standing on the coffee-table
At my balcony.

Maybe ...

three women are in the life of every man...
first one walks by his side
second one opposes him
the third has his back

Spring illusion

Spring blossom
Something is happening here -
Sun rays kissing my cheeks
Playing piano lips.

Ah!
This kiss!

But no pieces,
It couldn't divide me -
Nothing is happening here.

It's spring passing near.
It's a girl
writing a sonnet.
Something is happening here. 
It's love passing near. 

What Am I Doing ?

Walking -
Walking fast
Walking slowly
Now I can choose.
I do walk not -
I enjoy the walk.

Left- right
Left- right
There's always a hand
And a foot
Who lead.
I enjoy the view.

In all directions
Distances do not exist.
I am
Moving
Looking
Hearing
Feeling
Sharing.

Every new morning.

It's not simple.
It's not unique.
It's me.
It's what I do-
To be one of you.

I feel excited doing it.

where is the time?
they raised their shoulders -
no time !

they killed the time
with words
knowing
not
that
it was
what they needed most

richness of feeling -
there is less of feeling
that the two sides of you
are struggling
for mastery
over the whole

a smile -
exclusively for you !
driving slowly behind you
I was happy
that you were safe

It's Sunday
It's drizzling
Again
I want to read outside
I truly believe
That gardens can read
Pages
Unique
On this day
I want to be with someone
Who
I don't know

N.B. I'm not a poet.

served
with sun glasses -

my morning cup of coffee

Setting sail
Love
Fascinating
Yet hopelessly unrealistic

I'm not all
Wrapped up
I'm not
Making mountains
Out of molehills

But

Soft and silent
Is my breath
Smiling -

You have fallen asleep.

My Two Hands

Imitating the birds
Bored of being silent
Men cultivated speech
And started dividing the air
Using right- handed technique.

This new habit
Made the life of the left hand
A little bit bitter
Indeed.

In order to spice it
And put a quick quit
Of sitting lazily
In the queue
The left hand decided
To break the silence
Using an old silent trick.

It looked at itself
And saw
That what was still left inside
Was almost nothing
But that same natural habit
To take and give.

And then
The left hand realized clearly
That it has been putting
Its own vote and dream
Absolutely peacefully
And almost for nothing
Into the hand of chaos and war.

So to be as right
As the right hand was
It had simply
To get away the wrong.

Be thoughtful
Next time you vote.

Don't let the right hand steal
All bird songs.

If you can attract a cloud
If you have the patience
To wait in line for hours
Just to see its growth
Then you may have benefit
From its tremendous generosity.
A fair exchange.

Walking .. No Fear

Walking barefoot -
I know the solitude of silence.

Walking naked -
I know the joy of quietness.

Walking among others-
I feel the joy of unity.

No fear,
When the dark
And the night
Become one.

No fear,
When the day
And the daylight
Unite.

No fear,
When past
And present feelings
Meet.

No fear,
When the look toward tomorrow
And tomorrow
blend.

Walking ..
No fear.

i.e.

a monotonic life
nothing to do
but let me
copy- paste
copy- paste
copy- paste

" be" wants to survive
no matter
you are dead or alive
the "be" will survive

Sparkling cosmic imagination,
I'm in awe of you.

What Will Happen This Afternoon ?

Lack of a thing
Divides to many ( things ).

I am waiting.
Not because there is any reason
But because I have to do something
While waiting.

At noon
My shadow will become zero
And I will look
Like a bamboo shoot.

But during the afternoon
My leaves will start growing.
And I am waiting ..

I'm waiting
For the afternoon to come.
While waiting
I was writing.

a rock
a beach
mild wind in between