Peace be upon your pure heart, and on the ticking of the clock that passes slowly beside you. Here I whispered quick words to a spectrum, asking for a receipt and complaining of the bitterness of waiting. A little until the flower withers, and fate shows its blessings, somewhere.. you think of me as I am. Thinking of you, you listen to the whisper of the spectrum, and the stars of the sky..
Dreams are nothing but remnants of past and present memories and some of the future’s wishes. They summon everything that comes close to your thinking, and invite them to a party whose hero is the heart, and whose star is passion. You get up from a dream and my memory or kiss stuck to you.
Do not cry a heart that does not know the mercy of love, be that sword that cuts the pride of love and enjoys the groaning of waiting .. close to the last dream. And when the last ray of light falls into the depths of the absent life, let go of your sword, and let the heart inhale the coolness of the air and the feeling. Let him recover from the blood of love.. Then set a table as long as your fearful heart beats and gather all your old lovers.. Hold your sword again and start hating..
Alone on a tree, whose roots grow since the love of words had prestige.. My image is reflected in the remnants of the threads of the sky, walking in the footsteps of warm water.. Time and space disappear, and the soul remains free, searching for what is hidden, hiding its shyness in the looks of my eyes, and getting confused whenever I try to reach a word Free or a miraculous description in my forgotten dictionary.. Surrounded by a halo of nothingness and regret, whenever I look I find emptiness, imprisoning a soul that has not been written for a long time, perhaps fear of darkness, or perhaps the mind has sworn to forget by force..
The heart is easily freed from love, but it is never freed from memories. Memories are stronger than love.