For Air
There is a place in me for air     as part of  me     of  a piece     with how I  live. And I am in it making sense like a cart we are each other’s horse before.        given. loaded with flowers.     both our breaths     a  fragrance     of  sound wave and beat. word of  the heart.     The music goes on to explain     it is moved by the feet taking the place apart     into other places to see. where is     the surface the air impresses upon what forms bounce into shape and form patterns of doing. the way they do that they be. themselves     ourselves     scattered across the drumhead shod with a vibration of  the unsaid.   geometries of  air     shod with a vibration of  the unsaid     dance out their ordered sentences to freedom     the felt articulated into action a balletic leap     that seeing     trails resemblances of  not knowing to knowing     of  silence to song     of  being bound to flight. A place in the air achieved     space— not even aware the speaking might be music.     Or that the place of  air in us might be singing     the fragrance of  the flowers already worded      in stone the airy cupolas of  temples lifted off  into the idea of  showers of  bubbled light       and the poem as the champagne of  what the body has bottled in its strain.
2020-10-19 13:23:31
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Why?
I was alone. I am alone. I will be alone. But why People always lie? I can't hear it Every time! And then They try to come Back. And i Don't understand it. Why?
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وردةٌ قبِيحة
و مَا الّذي يجعلُ مصطلحُ الوردة قبِيحة؟ -مَا الّذي تنتظرهُ من وردةٍ واجهت ريَاح عاتية ؛ وتُربة قَاحلة و بتلَاتٍ منهَا قَد ترَاخت أرضًا ، مَا الّذي ستصبحهُ برأيك؟
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