The last of November.
What’s the point in being alive
When everything I have isn’t mine
It doesn’t matter that I’m eighty or five
When every time I’m held by a line
What really disappointed me
Is that happiness never came
What happiness really means to be ?
When all I get is permanent shame
Have you ever been so rejected
That loneliness became your life
And when your feelings are reflected
It doesn’t mean you found a wife…
Life always holds bad surprises
To those who think having a good time
To know that a dead man never rises
Have lost my poems their rhyme
Is death really my apology ?
When I’m seeking it everywhere
I can hear the dead calling me
And they seem to be happy there...
M.K.
Ibn Hadj Kacem
November 30th 2010
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