A Poem of Profound Disorientation -- When the Familiar is Strange ...


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    Published on Nov 10, 2021
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    Some poems virtually write themselves and the so-called author hardly knows what to say of them. This is such a poem of profound disorientation, when the familiar is made strange and, during one's waking hours, one is transported into a kind of dream state.

    All I can say is that it was evening when this poem was composed.

    Something needed to be communicated and it got out:


    Sometimes, after the rain, returning home
    the night is like a dark dew-speckled rose
    and somewhere in between all that velvet
    of those petals, we no longer are sure

    How we got here or who’ll greet us at the door
    which indeterminate shape or tormenting love
    will receive us with an embrace or ashen kiss
    amid the mist and great potpourri of spirits

    Will it be wife, mother, lover or yet another
    shadow figure we’ve buried in a dream, or not yet met
    such as the child who played hide and seek too well
    long after everyone had moved on, into adulthood.

    © Yahia Lababidi, author of Learning to Pray

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