???


Left in the desert without food and water,
She neither curse the fate nor stood and still
But endeavor_
in hope,
In the furnace of the sun,
She was burning yet not complaining

Her little shining fruit of love tree,
Was composing a sweet melody;
The melancholy it reminded her,
worked.

She went straight a head;
Following the bending shadow in the front.
She wondered whether it was an exiled or a traveler
Mocking her fate with a perfect mimesis of her manners
Then, some drops of water came down on the soil
Looked up to the sky, the lovely maid but;
Saw nothing to prove of the Rain.
Hopelessly threw her head down
Looking at the bending companion once more,
They talked beyond words
Till the fragile figure fell on
The glimmering bits’,
Wrapping her face with hot kisses.
She still could see the falling of the crystal drops on the land;
Knowing not where it was coming from.

The shadow stood again
When heard the little gift’s symphony,
Her steps played the music of the infant’s notes but;
Her feet were out of tune by wrong vibrations.
Once more the tanned hands of desert, cuddled her
And in generosity handed her its ingredients, but O
“What was the use of them?” she thought.
The shining crystal winked in demanding her trust,
She dug the point of its falling, with
The power of the sweet fading music.
Another crystal followed the former and another and another…

Her energy was regained
The drops came faster and faster
But hide somewhere down the earth
She looked up at heaven to see
Whether he sees her struggling
For the gift he had given her.

Then she found the crystals’ hiding place.
There she collapsed, this time of joy.
She stood up with pride and gazed at the water
While the crystals were still falling.

I recite this happening again and again it arouses unanswerable questions: Is it only the power of love and hope that move a flesh? Love for being abandoned or that of an inferior toward a superior? I know not, but I know well that she was rewarded for her faith; now, who will reward us when we are abandoned in the deserts of isolation with no love and an ineffectual quest for it?

Rhythem of the wind!

Raise my soal up with your wings

You 're the one to hold me

You're the one to show me the hidden gates of the blue skies

Take me there, up-- far away

Take me to the Happy Isles of the failures.

I wish I were the bird,

from whom nobody asks the reason she flies for.
I wish I were the fish

around whom there is no one to ask, why she swims?
I wish I were the snail,

who imprisons herself in her shell in need of isolation.
No body asks her, “ why isolation?”
Good for you little lucky living things! Good for you!

I'm, breaking the skies' gates

I'm floating weightless; blowing with the wind

I'm reaching the silver balls

I'm watching the falling flocks

I'm reaching the blue skies

Yet not leaving this dear hostile host.

He is not a king
He is not a king,
Not yet a prince,
And of no where a lord,
But, a simple Human being, with the good soul.


He is Odysseys without the witty Penelope,
He is a new Peron,
With no evita to make people at him frown.
Instead he has a girl to adore him,
No, no, no not adore him, but praise him.
To praise an odysseys with no crime,
To praise a Peron with no pride,
He is all of them but none,
He can be all but doesn’t want.

A monster at first sight, but at last an angel with no wings,
A tyrant they supposed him to be, at the end a kind with no power to be weird,
He lives in never land I thought,
Now I find him walking on the ground,
With me, side by side,
I look at him once again; he was not a king as well as my not being a queen,
I’m not an Evita for a Peron, I am not a Penelope for an odysseys,
But I can be a Mercutio for him and he can be one for me.

This is your room,
Yes sir,
This is your bed and there is your dresser
There is the window,
Do not go near it
Yes sir
Do not pay attention to the attractive noises outside
Yes sir
A distance away from the window, stay and enjoy the spring.
Do not look out of the window, to see the migrating birds
Yes sir
The doors are locked
Do not knock them even a bit
Yes sir
Of course you know your place in my heart ?
Yes sir
Now come my obedient charming girl and kiss me for farewell.

Strange awful feelings,
Feelings of self-hating,
Feelings of self-wasting.
A kind of self-killing,
A kind of mind’s torturing,
Some sort of eyes’ burning,
Some sort of heart’s aching.
The barks of dogs’ hunting,
The hunger of vultures waiting.

They are all wrapped in me,
They are all gazing at me,
They are all always with me,
All laughing at me.
Lack of love and sanity,
Lack of love and humanity,
Lack of kindness and charity,
Had made a big whole out of my personality.


A lake of dirty water,
Is where, I’m drowning in,
They are all staring at me;
Encouraging the fool to struggle more and more.
A river of sins goes to it;
Sins of a single lonely soul
That, is not at all an evil but just a lonely alive corps,
With no love and no body to love still by no body loved.

no face, no name,

no heart no bold,

no hands no eyes could find me,

sorrowful in these windy skies.

To a friend


The Drops of the sunlight fell on his night like hair dancing in the air, and his hands, with the gleaming reflection of the golden ball, opened the door. With gentle soft steps, he came forward indifferently, sat beside the window, where the only dark sides of the face, were covered with the light. He looked proudly with wide eyes, shining of pure blackness. Nothing could attract his attention particularly, nothing shone as bright as his face, but there was all blackness in his very person. He smiled egotistically at the girl he was talking to, “how arrogant he is” the girl thought, “what is there in him that has forced him behave in this manner?” she was not the only who suffered from his humiliating look.

He started talking and talking yet with self-regarding, what is he proud of, the girl could not find out but there was something in him, something unique, something gratifying, a thing of sublime a promising happiness that absorbed her in his words. She found the light pleasing and the darkness of his face delightful. She enjoyed his vivid description of his high character, though she felt he is boasting or in better words, admiring himself for what he hasn’t done. She glanced at him from head to toe; he was not a king not a prince and of nowhere a lord, but a simple human being with the good soul. He reminded her of Achilles when he spoke of glories he had made, an Achilles with the same pride. She thought, had he been thousands of years ago, he would have been more brutal than the hero. He was as hard as the gate of troy, but who could find a way to break it down, of course it is flexible, but how? How?

She was thinking of him as the devil himself who were kind enough, not to cease her life yet. His gloomy eyes wrapped her soul in his sharp black arms. She couldn’t move in his firm twine, she couldn’t breath; he was killing her. He fought very well in the battle on behalf of the devil, he could win him a glory, he was winning him the glory, he fought only with the hands of eyes, with no shield to be cheerful of, although he was Achilles he didn’t have the shield, could it be true-- and then how he did fight so bravely? There must have been something that she couldn’t think of. He looked at her once more, more effectively, more proudly and more decisive, grabbed her with his eyes threw her to the window and revolved her bloody body, in the air. When the game was over, he put her down on the corner, and looked at his victim closely, she stood and went out of the room dazzlingly, leave him with the darkness of his own soul.

He sat for some minutes looking at the wall, the white wall has become the mirror of his mind, he found himself in the middle of nowhere, and he was shocked, why she went? To where she went? Didn’t she learn from his words, of his hesitation ? didn’t she saw his bright shining soul? He found himself isolated with his passionate lonely heart, which no one could notice its softness, he was troy itself and destroying the gate himself; there was no need of the wooden horse, there was no need of Achilles, he was the Achilles of his own epic, he invited her with his warm flirting eyes, then what she was afraid of? Why she did that to herself? Something smashed her violently, but he couldn’t stop it. Wasn’t he Achilles? So why he couldn’t save her?

The tides of the melancholy pushed him far away from the beach of happiness, he found himself imprisoned in the hands of the sea. They expect him fight for glory: glory of whom; they want him to remain the hero, the hero of the nation, to bring home the victory. They want him to turn Helen back home, they are proud of his shield, they are proud of his bravery. “What bravery”, thought he? “Which victory”?” “Hero of which kind?” He was hiding behind that evil shining eyes, he found himself too weak to face it all in all, he killed and killed for it was the best veil, behind which, he could hide the weakness of his soul. He showed his very soul to others, but no one could see it through, they wanted him to be theirs not his himself. He was lost in the nation’s identity, couldn’t find his own, he wanted to be Achilles no more, but someone ordinary on the floor. Some one real, some one of his own, his own Achilles, hero of his own non-epic world.

My name is hamra

My name is hamra
A cave was where I lived,
The Fire, was what I loved,
A wall, was whom I talked to;
He listened carefully to me, with red eyes staring at me.
As a reaction to my words, he was always burning,
He was always there, he was my silent councilor;
He was my memories’ grave;
He was my sins’ castle.
The fire was my heart’s burning, and my soul’s as well,
I watched it motionless,
And still continued, continued, continued,
What for-- I knew not.
But there was no way back, just the front was shining.
“GO, GO, GO ahead”;
With all I’ve done, and things were to come.
I’ve lost the grace & the way ,
I’ve lost the light.
All I had was that manifestation of my evil,
It could lead me no where, but to the hell only.
There the silent listening wall, was mine no more,
Surely the sins were there to burn me well, to be eaten by evil himself.



You want me? Be no disappointed!
My name is hamra,
They call me Lucifer,
But you can call me—call me-- evil and
And- I’ll be there in a second.

The garden green
On the corner the boy was sat
Looking at people walking here and there;
Reliable, these parents seem to be
So lucky their children would be,
A little distance from me.
Cried to himself the shoe polishing boy;
They’ll play with their friends;
A thing I rarely know,
But I make use of myself,
When sitting under this shell.
I polish their parents’ shoes
As if they were always new!
They do nothing but playing,
Much more lucky would be I
When in lack of power ,they would cry!
A young Goodman from a distance came, and
put his foot, on the footrest
Looking around with searching eyes,
Unless, he found the charming love.
Then, left the boy and hurring
Away, not to lose that lovely play.
Little boy looked at the sun to complain,
but he stabbed him with his daggers.
His bleeding eyes looked around,

There they reached, the lady in white, at hand.
How resembles she to mommy ,
May GOD has sent her soal to me?

The lady in white whispered to his ears,
Of going to a garden green,
A kind of EDEN that has never been.
A Garden green?!
a thing he has never heard of,
Must be a wonderful dream.

The lady white took him there,
To the marvelous green haired hills,
Where children were fooling around.
Some Playing with fairies,
while others listening to fair stories.
The wind was gently blowing,
And the sun happily was shining.
Passing some lovely hours,
They rested under the apple tree,
Looking up in searching the sun ,To say him thanks,
but he was hiding behind the angry clouds.
Then, The heavy dim shadow came,
And covered the dancing green plains.
Suddenly he felt the smooth, fondling hands of the wind,
becoming whips, lashing on his soft cheeks;

o, oh, Father! set me down, I won’t run.
Without you there, I had no fun,
At best Let me go and say farewell,
Believe me they all treated me well.
N’ I ‘ll start polishing shoes,
Black and brown and even their sueded boots.
How happy their children would be,
A distance too far from me.

my hated beloved

Do not come hither,
Stay away!
Let me be happy without you, but with you;
Let me love you, but hate you;
Let me have you, yet lack you.
I love you still my hated beloved.
You taught me how to love and
Showed me how elegant it is to have hope.
You gave warmth to my heart and
The original wit to my soul;
I thank you welcomingly,
but yet stay away my hated beloved, from me.

DEVOTION

I want you, I need you, be my only one.
I pray you, beg you, do not break my heart!
Be mine alone, you are my only hope.

I like you, I love you, but can’t be yours alone;
I have some other beloveds, that I have to care for.

Thus, I’ll vanish them from the face of earth;
Then, there would be you and me, just like the first.

Be no selfish my little love! you’ll always have my best love.
Simply, open your heart and let me in, get rid of yourself and come to be me.

One Question

I —

Why ?

my dream

I remember once one said,
Tell no one, of your dreams or they won’t become true;
But, you crawled in like the fog moving around indifferently;
Laughing and cheering with charming mistresses;
Yet not seeing me, not hearing me.
I sadly watched you, traced you around the room,
As I am used to do, but not in dreams.

Thout I you're happy, playimg with them; poor nice dolls,

had i such lovely plays, i might have been as amused
So I’ll tell every one what vision had I,
Then will see you out of dream, regarding me as a human being.

“There are four questions of value in life... What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same. Only love.”
Don Juan deMarco (1995)

"Me, I'm dishonest, and you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you have to watch out for..."

"you know its love when all you want is that person to be happy, even if you're not part of their happiness."
"i believe that two poeple are connected at the heart, and it doesn't what you do,or who you are or where you live; there are no boundries or barriers if two poeple are destinied to be together."

"Beginnings are scary. Endings are usually sad, but
it's what's in the middle that counts. So, when
you find yourself at the beginning, just give hope
a chance to float up and it will."
- Birdee Pruitt, Hope Floats

In a dead of a winter's night, you flew away in the mist;
Vanished from his eyes, which were tracing you behind the clouds.
Now, from then on he is always standing there, staring at the sky;
May it’ll be ashamed of seizing you,
Knowing not its not on.
You are too far away to come back, there is no way back there, of coarse.
He shed tears and yet hope you’ll be back again.
By the nightingale’s chanting, he stopped staring; Knowing you’ll never be back again.

"Ideas are like stars; you will not succeed in touching them with your hands. But like the seafaring man on the desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them you will reach your destiny."

O, raining, sweet raining !
What you’re coming down for?
Not as our moving tears, of course,
Not, Of aching of heart.
for,o sweet pleasant raining
you’re near him, you’re a part of him,
you’re in his cheerless eyes.
then,tell me, what you leave him in such unhappily manner for?
You forsake the beloved firmament for what reason,
To fall on this fated dirt,where no such fervor you have had is to be found?
You,taciturn frosty raining, fall to depart from him so ignorantly; but o,
my tears come, since he treats me ignorantly.
How you two are alike: both pitiless, both heartless.

just see me

as i am,me like a perambulating

vegetable, patched with inconsequential

hair, looking out of two small jellies for the means

of life,balanced on folding bones, my sex

no beauty but a blemish to be hidden

behand judicious rags driven and scorched

by boomerang rags and lunacies which never

touch the accommodating artichoke

or the seraphic strawberry beaming in its bed.

Every night before I sleep I pray, yes I pray,
Not for fame, not for name,
Not for obsessions in life we gain;
But for my death angel, to come
Sooner and sooner than he should have come,
Just to ask you a question a very very simple one:
'Why you did bring him to my life ?'

Fight for far fetched desires! This is the theme of the world’s tragedy composed by GOD and presented by mankind on the earth’s stage. Do not escape, stand and make yourself prepared since your companion in the journey is not a patient one! Now wake up; it’s the only true morning , set off, its going.
Its sun will set sooner, its night will be doomier.

Lovely feeling! Vivid fresh and bright!
I do not want to get rid of it
every second every minute every hour,
the passion in me shout louder and louder.
A clear hunch cries in my heart;
He’ll be the only shining star of my whole life.

Had I but seen his glorious eye Once light the clouds that wilder me; I ne'er had raised this coward cry To cease to think, and cease to be; I ne'er had called oblivion blest, Nor stretching eager hands to death, Implored to change for senseless rest This sentient soul, this living breath - Oh, let me die-that power and will Their cruel strife may close; And conquered good and conquering ill Be lost in one repose.