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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