i felt like a lone flower
that lived
once upon a time
in a distant season

a spring flower
stuck in wintertime

withered
in solitude
captivated by my own ritualistic isolation
and misery

Under the garment of winter,
I see sunshine,
new dawn,
tulip flowers,
melody birds,
and a hint of spring breezes.

waiting to be awakened by
an act of kindness,
a murmur of prayer,
an innovative idea,
the song of life,
and the whisper of love.

Hussein Dekmak

Copyright

At this misty morning scene,
Traces of winter were seen:
The trees were embraced by mist,
A lovely sight I had missed,
Adorned with dew were the leaves,
Seeing how the morning leaves.

sunny spring day
but on the dial is cold
here again was deception
and the evening longing pursued
chasing me

08.11.18

A leaf here,
roots there,
bloom comes every year
bringing with it
the flowers of new dawn.

Reach for the sun,
ye of old mind,
growth comes slowly
but consistanly
throughout our lives.

When comes frost
riding on autumn winds,
shake off your old leaves
without chagrin,
let growth begin again.

here I sit again
I remember my humble spring
remember those modest lights and
that humble red guitar
and friend and light and new mountains

I see again and
I remember my dreams and I like water
here I sit here and I sit like
I then said that it would come
this moment and hour will come

and even then by the light of those lanterns
and in the light of that coming sun and summer
with all these drawings graffiti and guitar
I was not so happy then not at all but now
I remember the words and everything will
pass and what will pass
it will be nice and beautiful

02.11.18

Autumn has nothing on me now;
Summer has changed me as a whole.
But winter is coming soon, I fear,
And I'm afraid by spring I'll have no soul.

Spring: a season's anticipation,
Awaiting the exciting summertime...
Crashing down comes ice and snow,
And brings me to the winter-rhyme.

Winter, bearing **** days––
To bring out nips upon the skin,
And tears to turn to killing hail,
And morals to turn to bitter sin.

Autumn, so full of nothingness:
Empty, and dead, and decaying-brown.
Leaves that swarm the dried-out air
Like clumps of ashes falling down.

Summer, the warm, and lovely season––
"Hurry up," I say, "and run, run, run."
I'm missing sun in every corner;
I'm missing freedom; I'm missing fun.