Crucifixion

Crucifixion prose poem

Photo by Smabs Sputzer

On Christmas, Hegel smiles;
No year stands up unless a year dies. No butterfly flies up, unless a cocoon is torn out.
Crucifixion, dear gentlemen, is the ultimate dialect in the forest of a boring time.
Crucifixion, dear ladies, is another tale of the fire-bird.
Crucifixion, dear travelers to a future inhabited by past, is the resurrection of myth trees, while history stands on its head.

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Fareed K. Ghanem

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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.
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