ماذا .. ؟! خفقة نعم للأبد لن نتعب كلانا يسند الآخر ..
نامي بضلوعي.
تغطيك عيوني .
تخبرك قصة أنفاسي .
وتبقى نبضا لا يتوقف لروحي .
( أزف إليك الخبر )
( بقلمي د. ثريا خيري القهواجي.ليبيا )
(we met by chance)
(For my pen. Thuraya Khairy. Ambassador of Peace, Culture, Arts, Literature and Pen. Libya)
…….
We met by chance…
He asked me is that you!?
I said yes she is..
Something hit me.
His eyes drive me crazy…
The hoarseness of his voice is attractive, I don’t know how to resist it
Extended his hand ..
He gently touched my hand and stole it from me…
I shivered cold as ice became my fingertips.
I sweated as if it were a scorching summer, like the heat of a volcano erupting from longing and fear, rising up next to me.
He only whispered my name.
Even though I’m out of breath…
A slight spin hit my head.
And an eagerness that I do not know, like the innocence of a child to break her toy, she cries like a female’s hunger for flirting, and like a tourist’s fear lost in the corridors of the roads.
I stood listening to his last whispers.
I shyly listened to his looks.
Between confusion and silence.
Amidst the noise of the passers-by…
And between the sounds of cars and the whistle of traffic men
And between the lights of houses and streets that began to bloom in the darkness of the night.
We stayed in the same place.
Hug my hands and eyes..
Our breath met endless war.
Words have disappeared from the alphabet of languages.
A cool breeze touched our features.
Whisper.. when will we meet?
Let’s leave first.. Then longing calls us, then we agree to meet…!!
Will you allow me to retrieve my fingertips?
He replied: No.. Leave her with me and leave…!!
Madness messed with the air, like an autumn breeze that dropped leaves, convincing us to play the harp of the soul.
I will go … so I whispered.
No.. he answered me.
How long do we stay like this? I asked him..
Forever.. with the warmth of the winter wood fireplace, he said.
what .. ?! Beat yes forever we will not get tired we both support each other ..
Sleep with my ribs.
My eyes cover you.
Anfasa tells you the story.
And it remains an unstoppable pulse for my soul.
(I give you the news)
(With my pen, Dr. Thuraya Khairy Al-Qahwaji, Libya)
