The brook of relief I write, I sometimes dwell upon the same themes sometimes, I conjure the same beams and address the same sky appealing to the same stars begging the same clouds to weep and wash what hurts down deep! I write about the same albatross the same rainbow that wanted to cross the damp fields caged in my soul. I also write about the hefty bird and the crippled fowl I write about the power of love the ice-capped mountain and the innocent dove. I write and heave a sigh
when the mare grows numb and the sheep could not bray. I write, hardly can I remember which verse got a reward and which one I went into a slumber. Hardly could recall the titles of some poems neither could recognize those written in winter and those born in Fall I write and that's all. © Sihem Cherif
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