7 february 2012

poetry

Mustapha Maaroufi
Mustapha Maaroufi

When The Time Slept On My Hand

The asphalt forgot the roses advent 
He threw the guise of orphanhood on the ground, 
And from the night water 
It started watering the passers-by's eyeballs. 
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When the  time slept on my hand 
The memory was frozen, 
Then the presence and the absence became equal 
In the view of  the eye sail.

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