Poem 138, Sonnet 73: Figless Poem by Samer Madbak

My stalk is dry, these boughs are struck with blight
This figless foliage stands a barren tree
A life anathema my fair decree
To wither from the roots is verdict right
I am the mark of ruin, bark of spite
The teardrop midst the joy of Bethany
The Gloom that counters Bloom's hegemony
The leafage shed despite the summer bright
I wilt, no more the sparrow's honeyed rest
The cloth of Adam, or Nathaniel's lair
Accursed and stigmatized, my buds unblessed
I shed my verdancy, my limbs are bare
I am the perch of owls, the raven's nest
A cast of branches waiting for the flare!


Beirut
March 12th 2015