By Amir Darwish 
I left that table with three books, a tea glass dirty
An ashtray
The TV remote still lost somewhere between cushions
A wall with a mixture of rotten green broken yellow light
Small window into an empty street
A white tissue travels lonely in a windy ruined alley
I left a pregnant apple tree
A sink full of pans, has remnant of favourite dish from last night
My plate among them with a tulip
I left half a bottle of red wine near bed
Money notes wrinkled
A belt with broken buckle
The art work in the corridor
The man in it hand on cheek tearful eyes
The forest behind him huge as the memory it leaves behind
I left a tape player once a lover gifted me
The Kurdish singer Mohammed Sixo on it screams
Oh the land Oh the land
I left my school desk with my name engraved,
The teacher who lectures me every time I bring a poetry book
Instead of syllabus book
I left the old corner shop
With a debt book
That has my name
Left the new shoe yet to wear
The yellow laces I bought
To go with it
My mother who stops by the door signals “come food is ready”
I left a generous father who daily comes home with bags of figs, apples
And occasionally roast chicken in right hand
I left home.
Hikayetna 