"dirham" poems
Wasting words on half thought speeches,
and steps on roads we walked together.
I waste my time in empty parables,
in parabolic signatures that trace my life from one loop to the next.
Me, the black dot in a line of ink drops from the tip of a pen in God's hands.
Gone are seven dirham taxi rides in Broken Arabic.
Wasting furniture on empty apartments,
and music on crowded subway trains.
I waste my time in black-and-white fantasies,
in bucolic boulevards that draw my life out like lines on a map.
Me, the modern Mediterranean man on the Eastern end of Cabbagetown.
Gone are the nights of grape-mint sheesha on quarters of round tables.
Wasting memories on that "American Dad" episode, and memories again on events transpiring when the room went dark.
I waste my time on lofty balconies,
on silent poetry that recites my life from one page to the next.
Me, the unfinished Portrait of the Young Man as an Artist.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 10:27 AM UTC
Dirham comes from Greek coin, drachma
While the Abu Dhabi man hailed from Valderrama
I looked at the paper money you gave me
Its color, a mixture of green and earth
Reminding me of El Nido’s green waters
And the earth our bare feet walked
See the eagle, the mini- Burj Al Arab!
Eagle's the keeper, the other: glass of memories
Perhaps, ten dirhams were ten little Indians
Made of us -- six, three beds and a moon, gone.
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 8:14 PM UTC