I decide everyday
that I won’t write about you today.

That I won’t drop what I’m doing
to watch you walk past me,

that I won’t stop to listen
when you speak to all but me.

Yes, I decide everyday
that I won’t be so obsessive. View Post

Le coucher du soleil
par-delà les montagnes,
sa beauté,
sa doré,
et le ciel teinté
en amour
du soleil.

Et l’amour du soleil
est le ciel brun-doré.
La couleur du soir
lorsqu’il part l’azuré.

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With you,
loyalty is destiny.

An instinct
I can’t fight
I don’t want to fight.

Because
it is that much of me
that resides in you,

that I
am the surrender.

That I
am the defeat
of my heart. View Post

You’re the white camellia
I’ve been hunting in my wildforest.

Roaming through the woods,
I’ve been seeking
that scentless purity
to fill my soul,

to revive me,

to renew me…

…to forgive me.

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The irony.

That deep, divine love
I have for you.

As if it were the will
of the Gods.

And yet,
the deep, dark feeling,
that you and I
are not meant to be. View Post

What’s frozen inside me
so bad that it melts?
Comes out in tears
that I later regret,
for I shouldn’t be crying,
wasting time, now should I?
I should get up, wake up,
look the world in the eye.

What’s frozen inside me
so bad that I shiver?
At the thought of day
I just begin to quiver.
I tremble, yet I know I must try
to get up, wake up,
look the world in the eye.

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O! In thy patchwork soul,
weave mine tonight.
Let a part of me
become thine tonight.
Let mine cotton
simplify thy struggling silk.
Let mine roughness
take away that blinding shine.

O! In thy patchwork soul,
do weave mine tonight.
Let mine grey
soften thy quelling ocean blue.
Let mine sombre
soothe thy troubled hue. View Post

Your voice and its melody,
the falsetto nursed in baritone,
is a mélange of the seasons,
the skies, dusk, and dawn.

The sound to which a Sufi
whirls — reaching Fitra.
The sound to which
his soul is in union with ṣafā. View Post

In the last that I breathe,
I will not perish,
for my very spirit
is my love for you,
which upon my end,
will be immortalised;
manifested in your own being,
where it does belong.

As I wither, my breath,
in harmony with your heartbeat,
will evanesce into yours.

The irony is my love for you
that makes so little of me
so my fading is its eternalisation,
as it finds sanctum in you. View Post

She waltzes into the air,
dancing deftly with the moonlight.
She kills with her allure.
She’s a magical illusion.
A mystical delusion.
A breathtaking beast,
dressed as a ballerina.

She pirouettes ¹ —
it’s the split second of life.
She walks towards you, relevée ²,
her arms the arch of Heaven.
She pauses in an arabesque ³;
the balance between life or death.
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Tomorrow you shall see
the barren Heavens
shimmering with stars;
the dark of the night
ousted by a nascent moonlight.

For tonight,
this empty expanse of ebony
is inspired by you;
it has looked into your eyes
and said that it wants to
sparkle the way they do. View Post

Celui que vous aimez est parti.
La blessure a déchiré votre coeur;
et tandis que la cicatrice semble pâle,
la douleur saisit encore votre âme.

Mon amour sent votre amour,
donc il sait que ce n’est pas pour moi.
Vous pensez que cet amour est pour moi,
je sais que ça ne peut pas être.

Vous êtes ma raison d’être.
Ce coeur ne veut pas d’autre.
Et pour vous, à chaque haleine,
mon amour va renaître. View Post