Ilhem Issaoui is a 23 year old Tunisian translator, poet, and short story writer. Some of her poems and short stories have appeared both online and in print in magazines including: Three Line Poetry, Salis Online Magazine, Mind Magazine, Mad Swirl Magazine, and Danse Macabre. She has one book of poetry entitled "Fragments of a Wounded Soul."
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ilhemissaoui
Untitled Poem 1
I am that frigorific painting
come not hither
my colours essenced from Lethe
I am the tears oblivious mingled with raindrops and dews
and as listless as a dragonfly's gossamer wings
I live here under a sky
estranged from sunbeams
niveous with its clouds lachrymose
do I still look pleasant to be read
I the leaf that autumn shed
Untitled Poem 2
no murmur of rain can be hearkened
the sky pale
my face paler
like a moribund's face
and the tears
that were gliding along
like wintery rivers
have found the entrance to the soul
with destitute hope, the dewdrop glides down from one leaf to another
in search of a life fraught with life
my slayers were hidden in the tenebrific corners of the room
behind gossamer
they thought I have not noticed
between dusk and dawn
the thoughts seemed jejune
to colour them
I shall drink the inkpot
Accabadora’s Steps
Spring has loomed cacophonous and palish
as tenebrific as palishness can be
Accabadora
on her face traits unforgettable of a frigorific winter
her tremulous thoughts
ships wrecked
and spinnakers torn
her smile a withered anemone
with petals absentee
she sank, she sank, she sank
~ Ilhem Issaoui
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ilhemissaoui
Untitled Poem 1
I am that frigorific painting
come not hither
my colours essenced from Lethe
I am the tears oblivious mingled with raindrops and dews
and as listless as a dragonfly's gossamer wings
I live here under a sky
estranged from sunbeams
niveous with its clouds lachrymose
do I still look pleasant to be read
I the leaf that autumn shed
Untitled Poem 2
no murmur of rain can be hearkened
the sky pale
my face paler
like a moribund's face
and the tears
that were gliding along
like wintery rivers
have found the entrance to the soul
with destitute hope, the dewdrop glides down from one leaf to another
in search of a life fraught with life
my slayers were hidden in the tenebrific corners of the room
behind gossamer
they thought I have not noticed
between dusk and dawn
the thoughts seemed jejune
to colour them
I shall drink the inkpot
Accabadora’s Steps
Spring has loomed cacophonous and palish
as tenebrific as palishness can be
Accabadora
on her face traits unforgettable of a frigorific winter
her tremulous thoughts
ships wrecked
and spinnakers torn
her smile a withered anemone
with petals absentee
she sank, she sank, she sank
~ Ilhem Issaoui
