A Small Flood

A Small Flood prose poem

Photo by glen edelson

Today, streets shamelessly bathe, after they were piled by east winds, which were imported from West, North and South, since that news bulletin to which nobody gives mind.

At the hall there is a red coat, a pink boot filled up with the body of a girl child, who’d lost her babyhood before perfecting letters and national anthems. Destruction erupts in a place called Aleppo, in tune with a map designed by the engineer of decor and anarchy, while screaming from his heights: “just to your wish”. The girl child does not run, since she has dropped her legs in a barrel full of resentments. The girl, with the red coat and a jeans trouser the size of Jerry does not call for help, since her vocal cords had been sold to the merchant of ropes made of clay fibers, while her arms made of dust. She does not cry, because her tear-ducts are blocked by barriers and veiling barricades.

But today, streets bath without shame.
Here are farmers on their way to collect their frustrations, hum: remnants of trees used to keep green lips, but silence swallowed them all. There is a woman, the head of a household, wailing over an oil jar filled with echo: “the jasmine bush nearby used to hold an empty bottle of perfume, but it was smashed on the rocky hearts”. Here and there, was a piece of space in which doves used to have a fly, but air exploded over the last lost corn grain.

Here, in front of Noah’s eyes whilst sitting inside his rescue airplane, rain goes out of the myth of good and evil, which descends down roads. TV screens stare into boredom resulting from plenitude of death. Prices of blood go down in the market of supply and demand and lie. A flood of shame engulfs cities. Decorated garbage floats on cross-roads. Jellyfish gulp the remnants of jelly Commandments. In the meantime, that girl child with the pink boot, at that place which is called Aleppo, while waits to get her grade at history exam, gives up her jujube colored scarf to the flood, unties her auburn hair and spread it onto horizons.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (2 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Fareed K. Ghanem

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
I am 58 years old, from eastern Galilee, Israel (Palestine). I studied English literature, psychology and Law at the Hebrew university (Jerusalem). In the last three years, I published three books of which is dedicated to prose poetry. You are invited to visit the Facebook page Shadows of Water, where I publish my prose poems I translate to English.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of

A Small Time

A Small Time prose poem

When I was a little boy, I used to run up to the end of the earthen road and run back homeward; in my hand an open-lipped astonished fig berry, a few apricot stones and some body-scars. At those days,

A Small Glas Of Water

A Small Glas Of Water short poem

One small glass of water. The waiter said, “THAT WAS THE ORDER”. In the pantry the man looked at me. We have no water, LET IT BE. What will I tell him, HIS MAJESTY ! OFF WITH MY HEAD !

Small Talk

Small Talk short poem

Surge in hidden chastity enters the torch but the enemy was within. Brown clouds over the black carbon, glaciers were melting; the assault rifle stands alone in snow. This was not ignorance, a purposeful denial of white truce in the

A Real Jack The Ripper In A Small American Town

A Real Jack The Ripper In A Small American Town short poem

Gladys was a devote Baptist and a Sweet old lady who never had anything Bad to say about anybody so when this Young man moved into the neighborhood They said you can just look into his eyes And see he’s

A Small Chance

A Small Chance short poem

Standing on a sand island I was looking at the landscape of the aura of a lobbied avatar. The chill was spreading on the river unfazed. The sassafras had a logistics network to penetrate in the oysters, becoming grayish white