Sitting on a chair, one leg hugging another,
His arms on the table, not knowing each other;
The head falling the down, cluster black of the grape,
His eyes carried away, in search for an escape.
Silent hushing the say, the face hairy and slim,
Away beyond the time, the room empty and dim;
Bottle cheap of the wine, shining gloomy and red,
The blue dimming a glass, filled bottom to head.
Flame eating a candle, the roof waving the floor,
Singer blowing the voice, the walls groaning the door;
Piano rolling the notes, cello telling the clues,
Rhymes twelve of the never, Jerri-Brown the blues.
Lost amid his kismet, the head heavy and drunk,
Sinking deep in his past, the heart shaking the trunk;
Soul swallowing the words, music oil of the rhyme,
Moment loan of the next, the time not of his time.
His fate tired to chase, mercy out of the grace,
Street dog roaming alone, his home none of the place;
Doom scenting betrayal, with lies always she spoke,
His girl not of his world, to gone chasing a smoke.
His tree of many boughs, book lone of the chapter,
Life taming the roughs, his grief shading the laughter;
Yovna the mother star, bright, home of the father,
H’biba waving the sign, sad, missing her brother.
Yovna: A star where I believe all my family souls will converge.
H’BIBA: My beloved sister HABIBA, who passed away after her second spring. May her Soul rest in peace.
Jerri-Brown: One of my favorite singers.
Twelve of Never: Relative to Jerri-Brown’s song (End of Never)