Three sorrows
Ahmed Raffa’aI
The tree will not wear beachwearThe boats are goneAnd the waves are torn apart as if they are the fabric of the sad captainAnd the tree won’t recognize my faceBecause the birds diedOn the first morning of the escape of the rose
I
I thoughtThe morning dress will not changeI do not knowThat the skin of the snake was dry dawnYou little hutNot used to snowI was drinking hot nightAnd let the remnants of the morning eat me
IIIAway from the springAnd close to the fall of my lifeThe train did not comeBags sticking out of my tongueAs if it says:No travel . . . No travelThe stations are not candles in your fingers(The writer is from Baghdad Iraq and prominent Poet )
