Good Morning Poem by Alaa Elgadi

The sun's threads are the morning's brocade,
And you murmur ' good morning' as a serenade.
Your eyes' symphony makes me walk as a snail,
To look at the notes of your eyelashes' scale.
I stray to the magnificence of your smile,
Lauding God by your eyes' rosary in its exile.
My city's reality considers beauty atheism,
And art jolts its governors' glued fascism.
Belle! This country is not familiar with Mozart and Beethoven,
Its people see in the moonlight the grave clothes woven.
Therefore, let your eyes hide me in their dark quarter,
We are chased! For, you are pretty and I am an author.
Every morning, murmur to me that salutation,
And subtract me from this stifling country's population