Sun glows with flames of warmth after cold murky hours of darknessDrops of rain pour down in the shape of hearts clearing out starkness

A vivid rainbow emerges before me coloring my skies

 

Brightening the whole world and blazing passion in my eyes

Wind blows softly carrying within a storm of elation and bliss

galloping loosely and affecting rigidly like a soothing kiss

Touching me softly and making goose bumps crawl through my skin

Letting me feel shivers in my soul and letting my mind from joy spin

Sounds around perish as a serene melody commences to play

My soul and core get into the swing and my world begins to sway

Moments with you are frozen in time making me on the tiles

You grant me these feelings each time you show that dazzling smile


They wove bright fables in the days of old,
When reason borrowed fancy’s painted wings;
When truth’s clear river flowed o’er sands of gold,
And told in song its high and mystic things!
And such the sweet and solemn tale of her
The pilgrim heart, to whom a dream was given,
That led her through the world,- Passion’s worshipper,
To seek on earth for him whose home was heaven!

In the full city, by the haunted fount,
Through the dim grotto’s tracery of spars,
Mid the pine temples, on the moonlit mount,
Where silence sits to listen to the stars;
The painted valley, and the scented air,
And found his footsteps’ traces everywhere.

But nevermore they met! since doubts and fears,
Those phantom shapes that haunt and blight the earth,
Had come twixt her, a child of sin and tears,
And that bright spirit of immortal birth;
Until her pining soul and weeping eyes
Had learned to seek him only in the skies;
Till wings unto the weary heart were given,
And she became Passion’s angel twin in heaven!



The language of music is a world of its own and an own dimension to different worlds.

Nerves are like an instrument where one can play on like a violin. The soft reaction can leave a hand holding another hand with a loose grip letting all feelings fly into the sky like ashes dispersing into the vivid air. The strike of the chord can hit the nerve leaving a firm grip without letting a single drop flutter away.

To let go is easy but the pain inflicted is a self masochism on the inner soul and the restless mind.

To let go is tough but it feeds a person’s own sadistic hunger on another soul’s pain if fulfilled.

To hold on is easy if elation is a part of a long lasting moment which is in reality a fantasy.

To hold on to a firm grip knowing that your torments are just a soothing breeze compared to the other soul’s whirlwind is just another twinge in one’s core.

He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when one gazes long into an abyss the abyss also gazes back.

Then the one with the grip can let go or keep it firm and the one playing with the instrument can control the composition or slip in a fall.

Humanity is not perfect in any fashion; no more in the case of evil than in that of good. The criminal has his virtues, just as the honest man has his weaknesses.

Holding on can be interpreted in lost ways of translation and letting go can impose a scar.

Being lost in translation can cause a mind to be perplexed fearing to have a long time wound with the ignorance of knowing that it has been growing since the fingers swirled around each other.

The moment the hand is held by another one, then the musical tones of the grip are a composition of a duo orchestra. Nevertheless, the greatest minds are always misunderstood especially when there is any translation of beauty involved.

One hand is needed for power, the other for passion: where is the orator that could aspire to grace in such a position?

To put everything in balance is good, to put everything in harmony is better. Between two absolutely different spheres, as between subject and object, there is no causality, no correctness, and no expression; there is, at most, an aesthetic relation.


Ma Divine, Ma Belle,

My illusion is far more adventurous than what you realize behind your own disguise as mine is just another awaited surprise.

The Mediterranean has a beautiful scent that the red sea’s ruthless depth sinks in jealousy of despise but not the distance of the eyes.

The eyes can see further than the horizon where the sea leads the sight on a wave of passion to angels in the skies.

My dreams do not understand that the sky is the limit and my fantasy is just an abrupt jumble without letting my core be materialized.

Passion is obsession, addiction, elation, jubilation without any direction or even one single anticipation as it is a total unexpected heartless but mind creation.

Love is just another lie with a direction to destruction or a revival with new wings of fire leading to a rapture in a phoenix’s world of emancipation.

Love and Passion, they come and go like the clouds above our heads but the memory stays.

Lust and truth, combined, impossible, like two magnets opposed letting one another sway.

My Memories are deeper than the Kola Borehole where all the pleasure of the past are buried along the way.

I’ll hold your hand when you have to go through the darkest and most delightful memories of my nights and days.

Life is a game and wouldn’t everyone love to have a pleasant un disruptive play?



Betrayed, I felt this hideous emotion crawling under my skin like a monster cutting through my veins and reaching into my heart. A psychopath, I couldn’t run from because it was my reflection in ideas and its consequences on my ethical conscience. Life is beautiful or it is drawn in pink was only a dream to think of or fantasize about. Sanity, a small part of it dropped on the ground and crashed just like a small block of ice dropping down into a whiskey glass then melts slowly. African drums, a beautiful music to the soul but a creepy noise sounded to my ears when the rhythm went fast and repeated in a monotonous style. Silence, was a way of communication in pain especially when my screams weren’t heard and my shouts went louder but without any sound. Nathalie was an echo that played like songs on the chords of my life. Cheating was a style of life and an addiction that ate each and every psychological aspect of reason. A murderer, I was every night in my dreams even when the sweet dreams and the goodnight were wished. Destiny, a lie and an illusion I believed in until I discovered luck. The world, a place I created for myself where the playground dominated my discovery conquests. Loneliness, I have never met because I used to stay with alone. Fatal Sophia, I met her when I was young and running from love. Love was written in books and talked about until I met it but didn’t like it. Nathalie, always a mystery that has been in my life but I’ve always waited for it with passion and enthusiasm. Fire, I knew that I can put it down to die with water and I knew that I can blaze it whenever I want to. The skies, I have always looked upon as a beginning to a further destination and never a limit.