Near The Wings Of Micha-El
/Alone in the village house,
in the heart of green amber and fierce glimmer,
I climb to him through the olive groves—
in the silver silence between Micha-El’s wings.
I sit a step beneath his straw chair—beneath the high ledge.
/If only morning never came/
/If only dawn would break and bring the Christ/
He calls me to climb up to him,
says he longs for us to sit at his small table.
"Let me stay here... so I may flee when I hear the horses,
the clashing of swords."
Two hundred years I’ve been denied peace.
Two hundred years, and all I smell
is the mud on his trousers.
I depart before the moon gathers its silver
and returns it to the Lord of the heavens.
I leap my great leap.
Like every night, I fall like heavy light,
and run like an earthquake toward the purple sea
With gaping pupils
and lips that call out to the mighty moose.”
By Fadi Abu-Deeb
From: Syria
Website: https://www.comingeon.wordpress.com
X: FadiAbuDeeb1
Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/abudeeb.fadi