Poetry Made Fun - "Art from the Heart"

Jun 2022

Nabiha Hijazi Hajouj

Lost amidst a hundreds of me
I squeeze myself for me to see
Plains, mountains, waters of the sea
Gaze up and wonder, “Why not free”
I hush back at them “Let me be”

Loud winds tickle me with shivers
Alike the sight of mad rivers
I keep tight of fear I slither
To a land that has no giver
I cry out “I shall not wither”

Glued aside by rebuking rain
My once beholder claims in pain
The need to set loose its dense stain
“I served thee…” I longed to complain…
“…Cold and wet,” yet all lost in vain

Here I’m blown by wondrous echoes
So swift to a place so hollow
Across vast reefs and wild meadows
To hide is to keep me shallow
I rise again “Hear my sorrow”

NHH "Plume"

The "Plume" ( a French word for feather) has got all the secret; weightless and agile, but nonetheless, lost amidst an array of adventurous travels. It is determined for a destination, a landing, yet howling winds and envious skies ****** it further and away. The "plume" is who I am!

Jun 2022

Nabiha Hijazi Hajouj

The Pen

I can be a man’s friend
Quite close in the end

I can be a man’s foe
As the words written grow

Hand in hand, we march fro
Much like winds that blow

Man and I both agree
To have faith, to be free

Man thinks & I release
Thoughts on a source from trees

NHH "Plume"

Poetry Made Fun ----Art from the Heart

Jun 2022

Nabiha Hijazi Hajouj

The Book

You glare at me
With eyes that won’t see
The deep meanings not yet set free

I look to the inside of you
A stranger whose time is due
Lost and wild in one’s own view

Frowns, smiles, and tears flow
Like ****** stemming underneath the snow
But you keep steady, yet tired and slow

“Halt now,” I dare speak out
My words to you are of no sprout
Your own make no sound even in a shout

I long for that some one
Whose praise of life is still undone
Whose long waits turn boredom into fun

I stare back to break the bond
Unleash the tie…I am no fond
I claim back the ripples of my pond

NHH "Plume"

Nov 2020

Nabiha Hijazi Hajouj

The Paper

“To be or not to be…”
Words as old as the sea

Words as these cross my mind
Whose meanings I can’t find

I question why I am here
Why I’m in constant fear

I might become the past
        Whose presence went quite fast

I might appear today
Hours, days,…I can’t say

I might come tomorrow
       One, two, three…in a row

I’m kept in a place
   So cold against my face

I am brought out to light
       To a job colored white

  I’m rubbed against a zone
       Onto which words were blown

I bear with you the pain
       Which you’ve caused on my lane

I am shattered in bits
That fly off as one hits

  My remains fill the room
       To be cleaned with a broom

December 8, 2011 NHH ("Plume")

Nov 2020

Nabiha Hijazi Hajouj

The Armchair

I am made to sit still
Against the back of my will

I am tied to a floor
With rags it once wore

I am dressed limbs to chest
Upon which all can rest

I am kept with bare ends
That still serve their errands

I am blind but can see
All that they wish of me

I am deaf but can hear
Cries…laughter in my ear

Books and I both do share
Matter to be dealt with care

I am wordless they say
But worth books if they pay

I am…insensitive?
Yet warmth is all I give

December 1, 2011 NHH ("Plume")

The “plume” (a French word for feather) has got all the secret; weightless and agile, but nonetheless, lost amidst an array of adventurous travels. It is determined for a destination, a landing, yet howling winds and envious skies ****** it further and away. The plume is who I am.
Ambitious? Certainly; dreams solely pending in the realm of imagination. Skilled? Exhaustively; a “melange” of university degrees longing for achievement. Confused? Terribly; an open door to eternal misery. But yet, and again, the plume has it in store for me. Across the past many years, with vivid and melancholic memories, the plume has come to find peace in a sedentary kingdom: the fortress of writing protected by the expression of its glorious pen!
My journey begins here with you as the readers and my long-discovered passion for writing is pinned to a series of poems…“Poetry Made Fun” attributes itself to indulging yourselves and your children with hints about objects of our everyday lives.

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