Home recall

This my first attempt at rhyming poetry. The poet Robert Frost said that writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down. This poet says that writing poetry that rhymes is like trying to align the colours on a Rubic Cube. My poem tries to convey the thoughts of a Syrian refugee.

image

Home recall

This is the street where
We lived, walked in the shade
Of palm trees, leaves rustling
Sat, as the sun would fade
Talk, of our day while breathing
The heady scent of jasmine

This is our home where
Our children laughed, played
In the warm bright sunlight.
Where, we as lovers danced
In the cool white moonlight
Face to face, in tight embrace

This is our home where
We wove our life’s tapestry
An incubator, a warm womb
Our hearts repository
Now, it is a sealed tomb
A catacomb of your bones

I weep, warm tears in my hands
For my children, for my wife
As I walk adrift in strange lands
I remember my lost life
Dream of how we danced
In the home where I lived

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s