I won’t mention the shadows that speak of war
or bones that ache
as they are made to do so,
nor will I attempt to describe what goes on
behind these walls,
twilight is a perfect shade of periwinkle blue
outside, it uses gestures to communicate;
but there are chrysanthemums in our hearts,
there is no space left.
We watch the boulevard of a cold, grey city
and see angels with ashen faces,
wiping away tears with the back of their hands,
The only way to deal with suffocation is to exchange
our thoughts, inside these walls,
lest throat be caught in jaws of smoke,
how terrible it’s to love something that death can touch.
Beckon quietly, these dreams of liberation, for
walls turn in their sleep,
they are as ghosts, as kerosine on wet cobblestone street,
they mustn’t hear nor partake in concerns we face.
We, women of Algiers, in their apartment hold
promises of each other’s hands; there is no scope
for doubt here.
We dream of renewal, we dream of Spring,
while eyelashes become strands of grass
and the north wind continues to smile upon us.
Faith is the art of looking into the dark and
finding a prism.
Photo credits: Eugene Delacroix, Women of Algiers in their Apartment, 1834.
Posted for Poetics: Ekphrastic Poetry @dVerse Poets Pub
34 Responses
Adore this detail: twilight is a perfect shade of periwinkle blue.
This is so beautifully written, like I am also there, watching the cold grey city. Love the hope and comfort of these women, specially: We dream of renewal, we dream of Spring. Also love the message of the final lines:
Faith is the art of looking into the dark and
finding a prism.
Thank you so much, Grace 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄💙
(and thank you for the glorious prompt) 🥂
This is just wonderful, Sanaa! You have captured so much of the details in your poem, used shadows and flowers to convey meaning beyond the artwork. You also look beyond the image to bring the outside into the poem in the lines:
‘We watch the boulevard of a cold, grey city
and see angels with ashen faces,
wiping away tears with the back of their hands’
and convey the relationship of the women vividly. I love the hope in the lines:
‘We dream of renewal, we dream of Spring,
while eyelashes become strands of grass
and the north wind continues to smile upon us’.
Thank you so much, my dearest Kim 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄💙
This is so powerful and I think it also speaks to the strength of women. I especially love the imagery you create with “angels with ashen faces, /wiping away tears with the back of their hands,” and “we dream of Spring,
while eyelashes become strands of grass”.
Haha…It seems that Kim chose the same favourites out of many stunning lines.. A wonderful write, Sanaa. 🙂
Haha yes, I observed that too 😀 Thank you once again 💄💙
Thank you so much, Mish 😀 so glad you liked it 💄💙
“but there are chrysanthemums in our hearts,
there is no space left.”
“Faith is the art of looking into the dark and
finding a prism.”
Those two parts especially got me.❤️
Thank you so much, Melissa 😀 so glad the poem and its imagery appealed to you 💄💙
Wow, Sanaa! This line sticks with me — so poignant and so eloquent: “while eyelashes become strands of grass” The whole poem — visionary.
Awww gosh! Thank you so much, Dora 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄💙
A great exquisite take on the painting. I thought this was an interesting line…
how terrible it’s to love something that death can touch.
Your closing line is perfect.
Thank you so much, Dwight 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄💙
This is truly one of your best, Sanaa! 💫
These women trapped in their gilded prison, but their love for one another:
“We watch the boulevard of a cold, grey city
and see angels with ashen faces,
wiping away tears with the back of their hands,”
“We, women of Algiers, in their apartment hold
promises of each other’s hands”
Awww gosh! Thank you so much, Merril 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄💙
BRAVO!!!The note of faith ending is amazing
Much💜love
Thank you so much, Gillena 😀 so good to see you 💄💙
Much love back 🥂💕
“how terrible it’s to love something that death can touch.” I don’t know a person alive who can’t relate to that line, Sanaa. A beautiful, melancholy poem.
Thank you so much, Lisa 🙂 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄💙
how terrible it’s to love something that death can touch.
while eyelashes become strands of grass
Strangely evocative imagery! I feel a pit in my stomach. That’s effectiveness of words.
Thank you so much, Reena 😀 so glad the poem and its imagery appealed to you 💄💙
Faith is the art of looking into
the dark and finding a prism.
Rightly said, Sanaa! It goes beyond idle thinking but more of
a convincing mind of believers in a home environment!
Hank
Definitely! Thank you so much for stopping by to read, Hank! 💄💙
Your poem went somewhere completely different, Algiers inside and some dark northern city on the outside. Both places can be prisons.
Thank you so much, Jane 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄💙
I “knew” you would choose this painting. Your interpretation is beyond amazing … captured every nuance you felt / saw. Brava, Sanaa, Brava.
Awww gosh! Thank you so much, Helen 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄💙
I did not see this until you revealed it…thanks for acting as art docent, Sanaa!
You are too kind! Thank you so much, Lynn 😀 so glad you liked it 💄💙
You’ve captured the complexities of this image perfectly, from the first “bones that ache as they are made to do”
(boy do I feel that) to your lovely ending, to find a prism in the dark.
Good job!
Thank you so much, Yvonne 😀 so glad you enjoyed it 💄💙
Others have quoted so many lines from this wonderful poet that I can scarce believe there is one left unquoted and indeed, every line of this poem is a masterpiece. You compress such large thoughts and meanings into such tight lines and create an ineffable atmosphere drawing us in to reevaluate what we see.
Thank you so much, Andrew 😀 so glad the poem resonated with you 💄💙