My icon of sorrows is in front of me and the dead bodies of days are <br /> behind me <br /> <br /> This … the reader in the silences valleys of wisdom hymns <br /> <br />Does not receive more than the hollow rust <br /> <br />Shaking... And in its eyes the delusions of doubt dancing... the confusion <br /> <br />Turning in the roles…. Destroying the walls of the theater.. <br /> <br /> Opening the windows of his poems to the storm to cry <br /> <br />poor is the person who taught me the first letter ...who told me that the waves are friends <br /> <br /> And the sea is friend...... and the path of the stormy love opening thousand ways <br />What do I do with this love.... my ruinously and the boiling of my veins from this roughly colored volcano <br /> <br /> I rise the icon of my sorrow in front of me and pray…pray for the emergence of my lover on my path <br />Together with the prayer of the heart..... and the crescent of my presence and absence in his temple <br />Crazed... nodding back... some parts of me read some <br />I set up a trap for the sorrow <br />And it set up a swing for my death <br />And that is the days…. Phantom of the days…wasting of my time <br />Altobath* mount before me…and the storm of days <br />Abdel-Aziz Haider <br />Baghdad <br />2010 <br /> <br /> <br />*a mount in Arabic desert where the Arabic famous lover kees and Lyla meet with each other when they are child<br /><br />AbdelAziz Alhaider<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/insights-from-behind-the-walls/
