In Two Weeks
In two weeks I’ll be home,
Home that’s no longer home.
In two weeks I’ll be back
Where I left off and I began.
In two weeks I will circle the rooftops
And throw my pigeons into familiar skies,
But my pigeons will not return.
In two weeks I’ll be back in my room
That’s no longer my room, for I
Have forgotten the color of its walls, and it
Has renounced my smell.
In two weeks I’ll be sleeping in your bed,
Like I used to, when it was my bed.
In two weeks I’ll smile, and they’ll smile,
And behind the teeth the distance will cringe.
In two weeks I’ll be holding your hands,
Looking into your eyes and remembering
Who you are and who I was.
arch.memory 
Interesting, though not over the top, maybe because I read it as letter rather than as a poem.When I used to sing in the choir, the instructor used to be especially harsh on the French-speaking girls because whatever French songs we had, they sang lousily; they were too familiar with the language to take it merely as sounds (as in Latin or German, for example), they understood the words too well. Thus happened here.One last note; I found it especially interesting that you actually had to “remember” who I was. It holds water in a way.Ton frère Ahmad
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