Window Clings

The Casbah at dusk
children play and go
they were like fish in a pond

Mediterranean
Grey lenses
As the rain began to fall from the sky
down from the sky growing dark,

desire for fresh
heat of the day, happy fall
Summer heat quickly away;

ran as fast as he could, with a smile on his face;
The boy's feet
Hitting the bricks in the pavement

exhausted andold
centuries of dance-crossing work
and friends of the enemy,
families and neighbors;

Barber has been with the boy's Haircut
A few minutes before
As a new fresh cut lawn
while nine or ten people
waiting for his barber shop doors;

beams of sunlight shot whisper here and there
Learn how to transform into a corridor of the Casbah
and watch in silence
people coming and going

and the narrow corridorcracking
clearance to the top of the hill
closed a blind spot was
in a broken heap of rubble;

appeared in a makeshift tent that covered the store, facing an old tooth
published by Portals Ottoman face shine positive

if someone tells a story in rhyme poetic fiction Arabic
with drops of paint from the French
Monetic-poetic style;

scent of calm seas and churning gray

mix with the fresh sweet colorfulodors,
fruit in the warmth of summer sun

as a hive of surprise, clings to the mountain
Souk rest while waiting for the dealers below
in noisy and quiet this time;

shadows and dust and light filter
shows the front faces
keep the woman in the eye
wandering eyes peering
May;

Sea turns standing on the rocks on the beach
instinctively knowing
for millennia to come
theyturned to sand

so from morning to continue
until morning, from now until the time
when the time is not;

while the tensions and struggles sky as a woman born
love and grace seem like a cool summer rain, shine;

A chance to break a loaded gun black
and poisonous speech as a whip
burning the thorns and similar waste
in dry waste
violation of laughter and screeching
childrenplay in the Casbah is out, dusty rooms;

children not as scathing attack mark
playing football in the street
between the walls and cracks

the old Casbah
brown and dusty cobblestone streets, half
than mothers in the Casbah
peer, gaze through the window

their children meet for evening retreat;
discovery of her mother safely
in comfort
a room painted blue, as the morning air,
fixThe sun shines with her child,
whose eyes blink response

if the child looks in your eyes wide open childish joy
while dusty twilight Casbah turns into a starry night sky

either unaware of the struggles and unanswered questions
of political disputes
The mother looks calm calm
wonders and grateful
the flow of life.

End of poetry

A note of interest, there are many countries like U.S., which was home to alarge numbers of immigrants. Jersey City, New Jersey, where I was, one of the largest immigrant groups in New Jersey, which hosts thousands of Algiers. The city is a humble working class community that the Italian and Irish immigrants from most educated cities have shown that it is open and friendly for the many foreigners who settled here. So today is a kaleidoscope of races, running in the streets of Jersey City, which makes it very interestingchange when we visited.