Poverty Luxurious

I will die in a boring day, where people are bored to bury my corpse,

when sun raises late and the rains cease not the showers.

I will die fevered yet frosted through the slightness of heavenly thrill

and the heaviness of infernal boredom.

I will die denied to flowers

every lily and iris my eyes had sighted,

my nose had scented.

I will die denied to graves,

Every hole and ditch my self avoided,

and through the weep, rise not the weep,

only laughter and luxurious derision.

And unknown the skull, remains the skull

Unknown to bones routed, to skin molded

I will die, my talker of death

distant soul unrising,

a poor self to a poor self,

the gift of life disguising.

( C ) Copyright 2010 ADEL ATTIYEH