Samir Chahine
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THE POETRY OF

SAMIR

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Hopeless

2/20/2018

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I pray, beseech, do nothing less,
I, night and day, beg you to bless.
Unworthy, I would ask for more,
Infer thee, all my life I swore.

Alas, for I have yet to learn, 
The reason true behind concern,
For mindful treason I would yearn,
For all of which I least discern.

My words and woes, hast thou yet heard?
Or have mine prayers been since interred? ​
Hast thou the slightest time of day,
To hear my words and see me pray?

Since young would I, beside my bed,
My hands entwined, my wishes said,
My heart so empty, seek your wraith,
Have all but hope, have all but faith

Written by Samir Chahine © 2017
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Ruben

2/12/2018

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O' the day that she would long
to come and see me new,
For if that day would leave me strong...
.. the sky would see me blue. 


As rivers watched my tears a-flow
the leaves would see me fall,
and like the eerie callous crow
the birds would hear me call. 
​

And through the seasons I will wither
seeking hope wherein...
A single drip from dreams I had
of what it could have been.

Written by Samir Chahine © 2017
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Moulding love

2/6/2018

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 PART I 
A valiant, old and surely ingrained,

Creator of magic and more,
The bedside by which I'd written, was chained...
A maiden of carnal impure.


My damsel had asked for tales of a man,
With plenty of riches and gold, 
A man with more roses than those of Japan,
More magic that witches of old.

Midnight was nearing and so was my fall,
She lay there asleep, or as such,
Shunning the ticks of the clock on my wall,
My quill and my chronicle touch.

A speck of the ink had courtly revered,
The canvas on which that I wrote,
A tint of the scarlet fairly appeared...
... a narrative, cardinal moat.

Wandering, pondering, mysteries old, 
I envy her eloquent mind,
With dreaming, as such, of stories untold, 
Of creatures and riches to find.

I ogle the tint of burgundy flow,
And scorn at the canvas beneath,
My jealousy, guilt and infamy grow,
The jittering shatters my teeth.

A flicker of fear infringes my spine, 
A trickle of sorrow arose,
A bristle of tears immerses the shrine...
... of slashes and gashes I chose.

Imagining tales, and stories therein...
My calamus thundered and thud,
I cut on the dusty flesh of her skin, 
By wielding the flow of her blood.
PART II
A cruel, unmeticulous, wretch of a soul,
Had once made a mock of my heart,
His decadent fables engendered a toll,
And led to a sinister start.

Disguised as a man with a tenderness warm,
Ensnared was my credulous trust,
Yet kept underneath was a thunderous storm...
Of foolish, impractical lust.

​Approaching an intersectional gloom,
Our sympathy withered away,
For all that was left was devilish doom...
And undesirable stay.

A victim of silver and carnal entwined,
His inner was severed and bare,
A dangerous, desperate, desolate kind,
With purpose malicious and rare.

And bound by the evil that girdled his chest,
He'd ogle and scorn as I lay,
A quivering clod with a churning unrest...
Would lead my desire astray.

Meandering bristles enveloped his neck,
With whiskers of sable and grey,
His desicate mane, a miserable wreck...
His sophistry fables at play.

​A tempest of woeful gloom had emerged,
A glint in the eyes of a crow,
A splinter of lies from my heart he had purged...
... the stories that he'll never know.

Content with the torment that set on my heart,
He'd distorted the twines of my breast,
And woven the core that he'd shredded apart...
On a surrogate mystery's chest.

Written by Samir Chahine © 2017
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