Popular café – K. B

                          Popular café

 
Near the boweries,
Close to a peach
Tree,
There’s a popular
Café.

They serve tea
And « kahwa »
( Coffee),
Sometimes
Lime juice
And mix.

I was sitting
With my mother
And we were talking.

A french writer said:
« After the arms of a
Mother, no embrace
Can console, whomever
She may be ».

She was laughing
Like a child
After that
Our vacation
Took her
Sadness
Away,

After that
Worries
No longer
Frowned
Her eyebrow,

How lovely
She was !

Men were
Looking at us,

The kinda men
From my country.

But tall as I was,
They couldn’t
Approach us.

The talking
Was going,

We could
For the first time
Speak to each other.

Amidst the angry
Mob and the heat,

Our bench
Was the coolest.

Of course
We often fought ;

But I guess now
Our hearts
Understand
Eachother
A little bit
Better.

In the popular
Café,

There was loud
Music,

Arabic,
Oriental,

And since
The revolution,

People were
Practising politics
And dice ,

All at the same
Time .

Men from our
Country
Are proud,

But always going
For a good laugh
In that uncanny
Banter

Along with
The casual
Merciless
Jokes
To show
Virility ,

Containing
At the
Same time
Humiliation
And humour.

They seem to
Really like it.

Poetry took
Hold of me
Sometimes
In our appartment
On the sea.

The air full
Of the rumours
Of the day
Would soothe
Me,

The galloping
Waves in the
Far were like
Diamonds
In the sun.

I could smell
Fish, tobacco,
Grilled shrimps
And spices,

How drunken
I was on
Impressions !

Every morning,
I would set
To the popular
Café
And listen
To the talks.

Around midday,
My mom would come
And our own talk
Would start again.

« How fast hath time
Taken me away
From thee !  »

Much love,

K.B.

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