نصوص أدبية

A red elephant in my neighbour’s sitting room, wearing torn blue jeans ripped at the knees

Between the gates of mud and the concrete gates

There is a pulsating metal bar

A mirage quivers a lump of coal black clouds

I have locked up my shadow and left it hanging in the wind

On the rolling hills of my village

The gates of the narrow path       

will remain open for ever

no keepers no bolts and no squatters

Will there be anyone to remember to close the gates behind them?

Will they allow themselves to be inhuman again

By just stroking neighbour ‘s black cat!

Ben Younes Majen

العودة الى الصفحة الأولى

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الآراء الواردة في المقال لا تمثل رأي صحيفة المثقف بالضرورة، ويتحمل الكاتب جميع التبعات القانونية المترتبة عليها: (العدد :2079 الثلاثاء 03 / 04 / 2012)