Laissez-Faire

Islam Nashrif

A wrinkle carved out on my fallen face,

like a bad fold on my lifeline.

A crevasse where their passages,

their lies, and vile deceptions still nestle.

One gray strand amongst my thick Lucious field

Stands out like a dying weeping willow.

 

That other toppled avatars who reflect in their gaze,

Stranger yet to my soul who is crestfallen,

The new chosen ones in their hearts, so naive,

In their mirror of lies, I am the one who is unreasonable.

 

Inexperience for them is always more beautiful,

In their eyes, those forms sing a harmony,

And they aspire again and again to seduce the innocent,

So dreamed in the remains of the sheets in their beds

As Youth, Beauty, and the essence of life

Are flung into an endless chasm of charitable labor.

 

From a time too tired that digs my skin,

Their indoctrination will end up opening this breach

Breaking the course of our most beautiful words,

On our river of ambitions with dry lips.

 

A wrinkle has carved out on my beautiful face,

Like a bad fold on my timeline,

A crevice that still anticipates their passage,

Their lies and vile deceptions.