Excerpt for Then The Dawn Returns by , available in its entirety at Smashwords





THEN THE DAWN RETURNS









A Poetry Book by



Imad AFDAM











’…To all who have made this book an inspiration, a creation…’



































‘’2nd Februarys’’



Let us celebrate our existence,

For it matters that here we are.



























‘’Love and Hatred’’

In the debate of hatred and love

No one wins.

They say our time is a past

Already seen and lived.

They say we live again, yet again

We love, and hate…

But I think when feelings repeat

Themselves, they kill themselves,

And never had I loved, and felt dull,

And never had I seized, to love…

One can betray, one can lie,

One can have a heart, and mind,

One can have nothing at all.

But the one who hates never live,

And the one who loves, never dies.

Hatred says I exist, love replies:

I survive.





‘’The world is no longer happy’’



The world is no longer happy...

Everything is said and found already…

This is unfortunate.

One had once a will to create,

And nothing is new, not even you.

All is reversed, and all is re-made,

Ancient that were, the past admits.

And by time, you dismiss;

and thus nothing would survive;

but this...











‘’Hope’’



We live for today,

Wary from yesterday,

curious about the following day.

We live with white and black,

As if life is only two colors,

Two choices, two chances...

We live for today

Within the shades of a distant past,

Who still has lights on, they blind us those lights.

We live for today

Fearing the unknown of tomorrow,

Whether it will be a triumph, a sorrow.



Life is colorful, for the eye that sees beauty.

Life is happiness, for the heart that loves truly.



If yesterday was a war,

Today is a reason for its end.

And if today was not a serenity,

Then tomorrow is a promise,

for growth, for hope.

































‘’Poetry’’



Poetry. It is a mystery;

Rules, thoughts, still a duty:

It is an art, a relief, a beauty.































Eternal interpretation’



In poetry, something lives,

Something dies, and breathes, and fills thou lungs with art

that fades, that art that cures, oh that cures...


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