Thursday, 28 June 2012

Your Hanging Hair ........

Fingers laced within threads
Threads upon my pale face
Hanging down like silkened fibers
I touch each one asking for favor
A request I shall patiently await
And await is my game that I always play
Distance my only misfortune
Patience is the whistler of the game
Blowing from lips silenced by oceans between
Imagination kills the desire of being with
Whose waters of green unknown shall I swim against tides for
Each tide and bolt I evade would grain for my steps towards you
Pebbled sands once remote and unsteady with time do my feet now firmly become poised
But yet you are here in mine and I'm there in yours wiping away the dim thoughts
My tongue, has sipped the waters of your soul that were once parched
What a sweet taste and deep touch on your hanging hair.

By   Med Kanour and AS Lopez   ( Morocco and United States of America)
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