Crescent Scar

Crescent Scar
from XX
By Nabil Abou Baker
8/21/2010

It had been ages since I
Had seen her. She had clearly
Matured emotionally
And physically in that
Time. She had a new
Distinguishing feature, her
Scar – crescent scar that parted
Her right forehead’s ep’dermis
Down to her lipsticked lip’s edge.
The crescent scar parted her
Eyebrow and barely missed her
Eye. Seven years after the auto
Accident – atrocious.
Despite what some might call a
Blemish, she was strikingly
Astonishing, a gem with
Nightfall colored hair and eyes as
An ancient Phoenician
Queen. Features that could pardon
Or damn at a moment’s glance.
The crescent was her curse, as
Phoenicia’s dawn ne’er broke.

Gypsy's Market

Gypsy’s Market
from XX
By Nabil Abou Baker
5/30/2010

The Market

As I walked down
The long slithering
Street. I saw something
New, a market.
I ventured closer,
Passed an elder
Badgering beggar
Abusing liquor.
I needed some brown
Fresh almonds for my
‘Specially secret
Rich yet rough rice. I
Searched the items by eye,
Astonishingly,
The first sect’ was very
Thorough with wild berries.
The unusual gyps’
Had all the true berries,
Currants that varied from
Red to white to black.
Oh, I couldn’t leave
Out the ever pop’
Green gooseberry, which can
Only be found in small
Parts of Africa, Asia, and
Europe. The gypsy’s had
Not missed a fruit. There
Were epigynous,
Or faux berries like the
Healthy, copious
Cranberry. And the now
Beneficial
Blueberry. Oh, even
The aggregate fruits.
Thimbleberry throngs,
Several salmon-
Berries, countless cloud-
Berries, wine berries,
And loganberries.
Meticulously
Motley ‘ready ripened
Raspberry bunches,
Enough merrily picked
Mulberries to feed
For a few full days.
Nothing compared to
The gypsy blood green
Hypnotizingly
Succulent, sober
‘Ceited strawberries.

The Gypsy

I moved closer to
The end of the school
Of berries. A gyps’
Stood there looking ‘way
From me. As I came
E’er so slowly close,
She turned around and
Was covering her
Face with a head scarf.
She was dressed in
Loose, flowing and dull
Palate colored clothes.
I could see only her
Eyes, and the subtle
Superficial
Contour of her nose
Piercing the clay scarf.
Her eyes were like that
Of a black panther
Stalking her prey at
Night, sharp yet glowing—
Radiating like
The moon at midnight.
Mesmerized by her,
I had forgotten
What I had wanted.
She stuck out her Earth
Brown hand and waited
For me to hold it.
She said “Come with me
I have a special
Thing for you.” I did
What she said and she
Took me into a
Rust—colored tent with
Not any frivolous
Fruit or any vital
Vegetables—just
Some furniture and
A little dirty
Boy by a drum. She
Told him to play it.
The boy’s hands began
To bounce back and forth
Beautifully off
The vibrating drum.
She began—slowly—
And slightly coming
So much carefully
Closer to my still
Shockingly frozen
Silent body. Her
Hips haughtily hit
Every-every beat.
I was evermore
Dumbfounded—why? She,
The gypsy, grabbed me
And we moved together
Like the ocean and moon.
Her seductive dance
Had sold whate’er she
Wanted. She removed
Her headscarf to show
Her true form, a wet
Sand skinned beaut’
With strawberry—red lips
And raven black hair
That flowed as water
In a rapid—still
River, defying
The logic of life.
She walked over to a
Desk, pulled out a round
Object in a cloth
And handed it to
Me. I opened it—
A heart shaped strawberry.
It tasted like hell
And heaven in one.
And ne’er did I leave…

Chacana

Chacana
from Travels
By Nabil Abou Baker
Summer 2010

The sun shines
On only
The upper—
Gods—half on
The twenty
First in a
Cool winter
Sunny day
The sunlight
Creates a
Shadow that
Engulfs the
Spiritual
World of the
Incas. The
Chacana
Follows rule
Of threes like
The only
Laws—llulla
Sua and
Kella—and
Holy—loved
Animals—
Snake, condor,
And puma.

Sunrise over Urubamba

Sunrise over Urubamba
from Travels
By Nabil Abou Baker
7/22/10

Every palate of kind-full colors
From the flag of the visible Inca
Spectrum was to be seen, warmer – colder
Lights. Ones that eliminate the Inca
Beloved darkness – black – from the sacred site.
The gallant guardhouse, over Urubamba,
Can watch the powerful sun god exert might
Of light over the peaks onto Vilcabamba.

The sun carves the peaks of Urubamba
Meticulously sharp, over the sacred
City of Machu Picchu onto the end
Range of Urubamba. Though there exists
A lack of vivid varying color,
Sunrise shined truth – why the sun – Earth’s mother.

A Scarlet Scarf in Passing

A Scarlet Scarf in Passing
from XX
By Nabil Abou Baker
3/27/10

Moments ago she passed me.
I was walking on Fifth Avenue,
And enthralled by all the different stores.
My attention span was – nonexistent.
The few thoughts that did run
Through my head consisted merely of
Stupendous awe. Until, I witnessed her.
She wore an ash hued trench
That extended just passed
Her knees with black and
Sky pinned striped pants.
Her heels knocked the pavement
With confidence and power.
It reminded me of the horse drawn
Carriages trotting slowly on the pavement
Making sure every huff makes full contact.
The tropically artic air breezed through
Her scarlet scarf, which lay
Wound loosely around her neck once.
Her scarlet scarf was not alone
In waving through the air;
There was the tawny straight ink
Coloring the atmosphere by her.
It fell direct, just passed her chin,
Then returned for a more emphatic
Statement of strength! She came closer
And had bangs obliquely cutting her
Forehead and concealing – momentarily –
Just one eye. My heart began to pace
And my breath too. She was arms length
Away, took her left hand and brushed
Her slant hair to the left exposing the
Second eye. They pierced me. An
Unknown feeling of panic rushed
Through as a gazelle being chased by his
Predator, a powerful lioness on the
Savannah. At that moment, I just
Couldn’t – with my sweaty palms and
General lack of ability to effectively
Approach a stranger – look into her eyes,
Let alone talk to her. I felt like I was back
In high school, an outsider that didn’t
Really fit in to those clichés, one of
Jocks and cheerleaders.
I don’t know if she was a cheerleader.
It replays in my head sometimes.
Where the story changes to one in
Which I stop her scarlet scarf
From flying away. We talk. She
Tells me that she is grateful that
I caught her scarlet scarf, the one,
Which her mother knitted for her when
She was just a child. She tells stores
Of her success as a business
Woman on Wall Street dealing
With various assets of the stock
Market. And I begin to see
Central Park in the distance.