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.

You´re the kind of girl
who watches the moon
as she floats back and forth
between darkness and light.
You need no army nor king
to find rest   in this world

You use  to  lay your hand on my
chest  and take me to new york
in a heart beat.
(The  coins   fell to the ground )
and empty were my pockets
The rain falls differently in a small town
it  cries   with you
(the grass was never  born)
and the trees in my town are old and
forgotten
Abounded  houses represent   the
people who left us  behind
every   gated community  promises
security   but   instead it locks up your dreams.
I´ll hold you down (you whipser)
soothing my frustration with  music
It´s like nature itself escaped
through the last   storm.
I´ll  scream  into  forsaken homes
and  put up posters   of  
you in my room
hoping   that you (come and get me)
But the postcard  was sent
from a world (only the unliving can live in)

Am I invisible
When my arms wave for aid
Am I bothering the people
Shunned and ashamed
My lungs fill with mistakes
Four gallons of heart ache
I fall to my end
Inside me
Another person is clawing my skin, burning my head and kicking my shins
Cursing me to become a better
Me
Yet I am still drowning in my own sorrow
I extend, through forceful waves,
A weak hand waving a white flag
Before I descend into the ocean's grave

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