Sheikha A. writes

Cobblestone Tears

Lampposts at the base loosen their steel
under the force of moss. The curtains
of my room are statues of fountains,
arching perceptively against the smoke
in the wind. Flowers pressed between bars
of iron gates, paper fans against luscious
velvet – this house has survived contrasts.
You will know my city for its beauty –
the nightly binging on shadows – voices
that pry into sprouting pods. Feet scale
towards an immeasurable sky. You will
never see a string of birds free like the kite.
Pigeons coiling their wings on unknown
rooftops, squabbles with domestic eagles.
April has arrived last night with a bang
of flies. Somewhere else, a neighbour
hadn’t switched off their lights.

Where Paths Cross -- Joseph Vega

Sheikha A. writes

When a laugh crinkles 
my eyes to glint wild, know
I hold you close. To nights
dedicated to dreaming you
into the pores of my being,
I keep you prisoned. In
between the layers of skin,
of my face, I have you
enshrined. A mausoleum
of buried tears that surge
out no more. The identity
I now am, just one, is
an independence of heart
from its chest of safety’s
escapism. 

Iosias sepultus in mausoleum patrum (2 Chronicles 35:24) -- Salvador Dalí

("Josiah Buried in the Mausoleum of  His Fathers" -- His servants therefore took him out of that chariot, and put him in the second chariot that he had; and they brought him to Jerusalem, and he died, and was buried in one of the sepulchres of his fathers. And all Judah and Jerusalem mourned for Josiah. -- King James Bible)