poetry by Ameer F. Alhashemi
To Frame the Streets in May
I sat to frame the streets in May
Whose asphalt baked to mark their stretch;
Its vacant strips delude my sights
As distant greets, once rung in dusts,
Escape their place to hide from hail.
And though the hail exalt their fill
The streets stood bare; its cavities,
Beheld in lensed reviews, would puke
Their ice from dips like rabid dogs
As it offends their emptiness.
My feet could feel the sidewalk’s damp
As hail would crowd in liquid swims-
A glistening exult, for hail
To entertain my moods, while I
Appreciate my meant seclude.
The crackling stopped, and ears of mine
Have since endured the quiet played
By charcoal clouds, whose stillness parts
From melodies no hail could deaf
And scenery no shadows hide.
Afar, I watched the hails convey
My wish to frame the streets in May.
In autumn weeks, a voiceless pine
Ensued inside my depth’s regard
To cups ensouled in lilied glass;
Why does the urge to reminisce
My hurts cascade from crystal rims?
Did undisturbed appeal they held
Behind my mother’s turquoise knobs
Exasperate my thirst? Or did
Inverts they bared on salmon cloths
Assess my urge to feel unique?
But no, I wept, withheld in fear-
Why face the harsh suggests their clear
Evoked, when I instead comply
To shameless gulps my throat withstood
And drown my insecurities?
And so the clings of nerves they served
Demand their worth from my regrets;
To count the droplets trapped within
Their lilied glass, like oral tugs
Anxieties of mine restrained.