The Final Yellow Leaf

The Final Yellow Leaf
By Nabil Abou Baker
4/2/10

We finally moved into the bigger
House with mama, dad, May and grandpa. I
Chose the room – overlooked the street – passing by
Cars. Grandpa spent his time by a copper
Clock, staring at nature standing close by.
He used to forget many things, his daughter –
My mama. Like the time, I told a lie
To keep from trouble – I forgot where my

New shoes were! I remember my old house
Had an oak out front. During winter he
Used to say that it never completely
Shed its leaves. I really don’t understand
How he was able to remember that fact.
Winter – four years – that final yellow leaf fell.

Your Eyes Lie to Me

Your Eyes Lie to Me
By Nabil Abou Baker
02/06/2010


“Please, please, please,” Repetitiously ran over
Again and over again, until he came.
I quickly glanced at him and knew a frame
Has been placed on my portrait. “Don’t answer
Your question. I see you’re either – actor
Or author in this play. Either in game
Or manipulating my fearless flame.
Lie to me. Lie! You still stand with – honor.”

Her eyes fixated, did not change the bold
Letters – metastatic. Scenarios,
Choices and outcomes – endlessly their mold
Ran over again and over again. Cast that hollow
Figure away. “There was an error, moments
Ago. Return, in a week” – reassurance.

Colored Amply, Nurtured Calmly Eastward, Ready

Colored Amply, Nurtured Calmly Eastward, Ready
By Nabil Abou Baker
11/18/2009

“You just have to see her?”, his heart murmured.
“I heard what had happened, I am my sorry
For your loss Mister Darcey. Her colored
World was slowly fading, losing amply,
The paint of life, but not love. You nurtured
Her through—this time; just want you to—calmly
Follow me—and I will take you—eastward,
To where Lizzy quietly ‘waits, ready.”

“You just have to see her.”, the husband said.
“Mister Darcey, Mister Darcey, Mister
Darcey!” They both stood there as his fear led
His mind down a wasteland path of utter
Desolation, more than a hand full of
Dust. “You just have to see her!”, cried Darcey.

Camino Inca

Camino Inca
from Travels
By Nabil Abou Baker
7/21/10

Wak’ay Wilica – Veronica’s potent
Powerful peak piercing the sky ‘versing
With Inca’s sun. Snow resting on the peak
Wages war with the – white innocent – sick clouds,
Mirroring the tribal legend of the
Winay Wayna – the prince of Yunkas and
The princess of Antis forbidden love,
A class’ Shakespearean love – that ended
Tragically in Wilkamayu – sacred
River – the river that divided vicious
Vilcabamba from the other under
Powered Urubamba. But history
Played one mountain falling – to be reborn.
From Veronica fell Cuzco’s last tear.

Red (III)

Red (III)
from Colors
By Nabil Abou Baker
6/10/2010

I grabbed the flawlessly sharp knife and brought it closer to my wrist.
“Go ahead, no ones gonna give a shit!
Do it!
What are you gonna chicken out.
Oh yeah – that’s right you never finish anything.
Just like you won’t finish this, now!
You never had any guts!”
“That’s not true –“
“What?
Are you blind and stupid?
No one gives you a minute of their time,
Not your mother, brothers or sisters.
No one.
Not your friends nor stupid annoying teachers.”
“Shut up.”
A tear for every person who supposedly knew me
Ran down my face as
Red ran down my arms
And to the carpeted ground.

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…