Poetry: The Man’s Flare

Graphic Nadine Abdellatif

The man was standing there—

looked like he stepped out of a nightmare— 

Recalled the memory of a flare

That never reflected as a mirror 

(Because of a broken glass)


Because if (we) touched the grass

It could have never been greener

Than the leaves of flowers newly blooming 

In my garden of secrets


Because this love was dooming 


The outlet 


Of a greater one I just met.

Now I don’t have to hide behind shame

Now thy ego cannot divide blame

Because I am safe and sound

There’s no number to count

I am truthfully bound

To the fall 

Since I recall

That it was all 

Just a nightmare.