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The cloud is crumbling,
Rainy day ahead,
The air is soaked
The flavour of heavy soil.

New life is born
In the depths of the merciful Earth
We are all Her sons and daughters.
In the midst
of a morning walk
I followed a trail
of purple
flowers
fallen
and ripe
that led me to
the mother tree
who has grown
heavy
with too much
beauty to carry
Ashrafieh, is a magical place in Beirut, Lebanon. It has those purple floral trees who decorate not only its appeal but also the streets after they have fallen.
It has a certain feel to it, when you see them, you feel the cusp of summer that will flood the city with heat, but yet in the midst of everything has hit the ground, there's so much beauty to the fallen.
Don’t be alarmed
if evil blooms
where you sowed
your gentlest good.

Not all earth
welcomes roots
some soils rot
what should have stood.

So plant with love,
but learn the ground,
for even light
can be misunderstood.
A reflection on misplaced effort, toxic environments, and the wisdom of discernment.
We dine on tears again this evening,
Sipping vessels that shan't run dry.
The banquet halls tonight are heaving,
Guests dreaming of clearer skies.
Is this water still water
in the photo taken a moment ago,
or is it reflecting the sky
in a dark mirror of wishes,
drifting through the mind?

Do the thoughts wear the words?
Do they embrace stillness and truth?
There is no single pattern to interpret.
Alternative facts appear credible.

What was predictable, a sweet certainty,
became a distant mirage of memories,
touching softly reality and its interpretations,
sealed tightly in the crystal bottle,
sinking slowly into oblivion without regrets.

Canceled words are so infinite and quiet,
bringing a deep indigo relief,
inexpressible and so beautiful.
No doubts. No screams.
Just a peaceful self-reconciliation.
Perhaps life outside the seascape of emotion
is worth trying to, just live & never expecting
high demand.

Perhaps life gets bitter when your
too alone for such a long time, it's like
You seek company but you never did.

Perhaps life outside writing are more
Challenging than the play of words,
Trying to dare the truth that never
Comes out.

Perhaps life gets busy on things that
didn't matter, you laze around and
listening to stories never your own.
Trying to pass time, like a passerby
Never staying, you just fade in the
background of things you wish
it's Yours...

Perhaps life outside my inspiration
I'm too forgiving, too passive, and
too sensitive that I never care for
Myself. I care too much on my own
Prison that I forgot to believe on myself.

I don't write like I used too,
because I care too less like
I used too...
i guess this is my life.
Air we need
It's free for all.

Freedom we want
It comes with a price.
i saw a big blue ribbon with love birds either end
they flew across each other and i saw the ribbon bend
they shaped it like a heart  in the sky above
the emblem we all know as a sign of love

i was very proud they made this all for me
high up in the sky so i could plainly see
i wont forget the love birds  or the ribbon too
the picture that they made in the sky so blue
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