The hand of Fatima

I leave the whitewashed house
with the blue door
in the dawn's early hours
... And the heat has not yet struck

I walk along the beach
while waves soft swells
wetting the sand
... And my tracks are erased

I know the weak breeze
against my face
in the distance olive grove trees
... And I think the hand of Fatima

Poetry by Maria Silvia
Read 743 times
Written on 2015-06-01 at 14:54

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
I'm not entirely sure that I understand the conclusion of this poem, but it is beautifully written and soothing.

Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Very nice ;)

Dreamy and uplifting at the same time.