Behind the wailing walls 17

Hassan Ahmed
Even the disappeared morning hid its futile smile from him
He just waits undesirable smile to reopen the unhealed wound
The past of his smile was a wound
His present is the medicine
It is a trip of the old wound
That renews itself through the fruitless tale
The childish face moves nightly toward the river
He desires to see himself on river’s mirror
That wound on its seems farcical face