Jouer avec la vie afin de s'en moquer~

for women who are ‘difficult’ to love.

you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
prettier
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him travelling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love. - Warsan Shire

I can’t tell you just how wonderful she is. I don’t want you to know. I don’t want any one to know.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise.

"اليأس عادة, والأمل ابتكار.
للفرح أجنحة وليس له جسد,
للحزن جسد وليس له أجنحة.
الحلم هو البريء الوحيد
الذي لا يقدر أن يحيا إلاّ هاربًا.
الفكر دائمًا يعود
الشعر دائمًا يسافر.
السرّ أجمل البيوت
لكنه لا يصلح للسكنى.”

- أدونيس

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond by e.e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

- e.e cummings

.‏ضوءٌ لا يجيء منكَ .. هو ظلامٌ آخر

أدونيس

T.Alk

- Salut, parlez-vous anglais?
- Oui.
- Mon frère m’a envoyé ce message. C’est pas pour moi. . c’est, c’est pour mon fils. Voila alors, est-ce que vous pouvez me le traduire?
- Mais oui, bien sûr.

"We all know what you did in the past and what I did back then is what every uncle would’ve done. You did something wrong and it was a turning point in your life but everybody makes mistakes and twelve years of guilt is long enough. Now it’s the time to draw conclusions and put the past behind: We forgave you, you need to forgive yourself. Always remember that you are a good person, always remember that you have us. Now put your head up, you still have a bright future ahead. Best wishes from your uncle who loves you so much. T."

- Meilleurs voeux pour vous aussi! les lunettes ne cachaient pas ses larmes.
- Merci..

“The syntactical nature of reality, the real secret of magic, is that the world is made of words. And if you know the words that the world is made of, you can make of it whatever you wish.”

― Terence McKenna

As I Walked Out One Evening

As I walked out one evening,
  Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
  Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
  I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
  "Love has no ending.

"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
  Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
  And the salmon sing in the street,

"I'll love till the ocean
  Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
  Like geese about the sky.

"The years shall run like rabbits,
  For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
  And the first love of the world."

But all the clocks in the city
  Began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you,
  You cannot conquer Time.

"In the burrows of the Nightmare
  Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
  And coughs when you would kiss.

"In headaches and in worry
  Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
  Tomorrow or today.

"Into many a green valley
  Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
  And the diver's brilliant bow.

"O plunge your hands in water,
  Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
  And wonder what you've missed.

"The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
  The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the teacup opens
  A lane to the land of the dead.

"Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
  And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
  And Jill goes down on her back.

"O look, look in the mirror,
  O look in your distress;
Life remains a blessing
  Although you cannot bless.

"O stand, stand at the window
  As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbor
  With all your crooked heart."

It was late, late in the evening,
  The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
  And the deep river ran on.  


- W.H. Auden

Endless Loop

Endless Loop

“You would remember her. Your second person. You’d count blessings and beating hearts and follow lifelines like callused palm readers. You’d trust in the earth beneath you. You’d trust in the stars we’re made of. But then. It came and chose. When time was measured in heartbeats per minute, you found warmth. Darkness crept in. The sun started to fade and the starlit night began to dissolve. And, even as the sky went dim and the world fell apart, you impressed the earth. Those were The Orchid Days.”
- L’Orange, Unreliable Narrator.