Mamihlapinatapei: A Translation


 The ticking, tocking bird song

And ‘isn’t this nice’.

The up, down,

Cross hatch

And some other chairs.

Brushed and blushed skin.

The throats moisture,

Left in imprints across dark wood.

Once it fades,

She answers the question he didn’t ask.

A wordless yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are reluctant to start. – Mamihlapinatapei

Thé à la Menthe

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16km squared of mint tea,

Is drunk in Morocco’s sunshine garden.


Bikes, Bargains, Buskers,

Thé à la Menthe.

Carted donkeys,

Drugged snakes


Thé à la Menthe.

600 Dirham?

Definitely not.


50 at most,

That’s my lot.

Under Atlas, (snowcaped he peaks),

 Aladdin’s rooftop opens the labyrinth;

Snail soup, crumbled courts, stall 32 and

Thé à la Menthe.


Dreaming Sparrows

WP_20141005_23_08_37_Pro If we leave tonight,

Then we leave, all behind


 Dreamt of else-  


There, the beauty has no lines


Father time befuddled by wine

Fairy pools hiding music halls

Juxtaposing rhyme un- hindered,

 By reason and line.


Honey trickle, burning skin;

My little sparrow,

Fly down the hall,


 this life in.

Posted as part of the daily post ‘Dreamy’ challenge.