My mother  grew  up  in the sand
among wolfs and sheeps
The herd  was  her family
She was a nomad
And the first to flee in her generation
She  ran with her family
when  the  bullets  hit our home
My mother carried all of her children
in her arms
Through landscapes she
Saw lions and elephants running
She saw the fear   in their eyes
Our paradise   had been sold to the devil
and  everything with a soul was leaving
When the sky turned dark
she  climbed over spike fences
and crossed the border
There wore   her brothers awaiting
and their eyes glowed in the
dark 
Greeting her to safety
My mother  built a house with her hands.
Only to witness it being torn down
My mother   is a warrior,
she  survived  the worst
and gave me the best
a future.

Poets, like
madmen and prophets,
are banned from
the Kingdom of Reason,
as they are
the progeny of the sun
(the sun who illumines as he blinds)
and the siblings
of the rays
who never tire
of beating
the world into
magnificent new shapes
that fascinate us
all – including
Unwavering Moon whose
lonesome secret is to be
madly in love
with the rainbow.

© LazharBouazzi, May 26, 216