FAMAGUSTA IN THE RAIN Composed by: Alaa B. Elgadi 8th October, 2015 (Famagusta- Cyprus)     The mighty sage oaks sound as xylophones, And the houses’ gutters seem to be as vibraphones. The zebra crossings look like piano keyboards, The doves resemble musical notes on the telephone cords. The patient Mercedes taxis blow their horns as saxophones, The sky scent makes the concrete paths inlaid with precious stones. The vintage street lamps rhythmically begin to flash, At the rain water and every stilettos with a splash. This UN camp’s iron fence used to look so sharp, Now it looks like as musical scale on a Jewish harp. Here is a Cypriot beauty trying on a tight Turkish boots, She bends down as Cyprus serves all its heavenly fruits.  Brazil cashew nuts’ aroma dances samba before these shops, And the holy bakeries immortalize the gold ears of the wheat crops. History repeats itself, but like Shakespeare it will never repeat, So I love being in Shakespeare café in Sakarya cinema street.    Tasting the sips of the aromatic Turkish tea is only abstractions, Unless you do not crunch some Baklava and Konawa’s attractions. Away from the down town! There is a cold thick- fur cute kitten, Purring behind a colonial yellow post box inlaid with ‘Great Britain’. The long Salamis Street resembles a Cypriot buffet, extremely delicious, And the fragrance of the rain sounds as the local Cypriots, not malicious. The scented rustle of the vivid trees plays a symphony of slow jazz, How breathtaking! The olives’ smell echoes distantly from Karpaz. Here is where I am living in Famagusta city, Whose air is an equation of beauty and simplicity. I am a sensuous Libyan poet, not insane, Portraying Famagusta in the rain. Romantic poets come to existence in October with the mild temperature, They carve their names on the golden leaves of literature. For nature always inspires me the aesthetic certainty, Allah the Creator of rain, Has the absolute Eternity.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Related entries


The battle between the devil and god in ones soul.

I stared at the moon

A recollection of millions of bizarre emotions at the sight of the moon.

Life And Death Star

This is about well known stars but we are left out of the picture we are the amazing ones

How is it?

A poem has different meaning varying from person to person. Just like Haiku: feel it I.


It is the dark cloud that comes over our lives every now and then.