Flowers prose poem

Photo by gamillos

A flower is a colorful scrabbling over a garden’s cheeks and a flying kiss into air.

A flower is a state of confusion, whenever a stigma erects up into a silky bed.

A flower is martyrdom on earth, with a poetry line and a solo dance.

A flower is a star made of desire leaves and a fistful of night fireflies.

A crimson flower is a fire-stone, scattering snow-flakes on heart’s orifice.

A flower is a needle of water in a pile of absurdities.

A flower is a hanging garden on rocky eyelashes.

A flower lives with screams of color, but dies in silence.

A flower never breaks order, because it professes spontaneity and improvisation.

A flower is ignorant of history, so it equally grows in a soldier’s helmet or in his victim’s skull.

A flower is a masks party inside a nude hall.

A flower lives each and every moment, without a calendar.

A flower is the splitting of heart into ten fingers.

A flower is dawn’s tears dropped over the last line of a happy dream.

A flower occupies others’ lands, without troops.

A flower participates in all weddings and funerals, but falls in love and dies completely alone.

A flower is a nomad beautiful dream.

A flower fears not the darkness of cemeteries and conferences.

A flower is the shape of indifference to thorns.

A flower is an orotund speech, with no voice.

A flower is a language free of grammar and morphology.

A flower is a fluent tongue which does not gossip.

A flower is an ambush, firing life powder at the body of death.

A flower is the form of love before marriage.

Flowers are papers refusing to write on them, except for with transparent ink.

A flower is a timed bomb, full of pleasure nails.

A yellow flower is an upside down sun.

A red flower is uneven fight between a bull and a sword.

A white flower is an insurance policy for some gods.

A colored flower is the shape of hesitation at crossroads.

A black and white flower is an open text.

A flower sleeps at night, on the water of moon.

When a flower grows inside a boot, all things giggle.

Flowers love furrowed jars and old clay.

A flower migrates to earth, and comes back to sky.

Flowers conclude their happy marriage through exchanging letters.

A flower is a holy grail, without shrines.

Flowers are eternity hats over graves heads.

Flowers are liberated precious metals out of hell.

A flower is a lover’s white lie inside the show of colors.

A flower is a literary translation of stars on earth.

A flower is the shape of flux over windows aridity.

A flower is a fountain of the soul in cities of stone.

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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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