A negligible volume and infinite energy
A limitless interval of knowledge and intimacy

Wisdom surpassing reason binding the creation
Imprinted information in our core's explanation

I am eternal, i will never die
Death is conquered, though you will putrefy
Because
You knew too much, still you chose crime
But
I come from the outter margin, beyond space and time


Words Of Harfouchism

Above all
I wish for your happy time
Even though when it costs me mine

After all
I wish for your peace
I know it requires my absence

Above all
I pray for your success
Although it builds on my broken pieces

After all
I pray for your luck always
I know it needs my bad days

Above all
I want our parting
I know it will ruin me totally

Two

Your flesh was mine
and my flesh was yours,
but you were taken away from me
suddenly,
I can no longer be kept
inside a box,
thoughts can no longer be
underconstructed,
and castles I built on clouds
are now destroyed,
out of small clothes I've grown
and the land of childhood
is now but a void,
a room with four walls
I've been told to evacuate from,
and now I move
hastily into this world,
as it unravels me
and takes what good it finds,
begging for it to call
a truce with my mind.

When you unravel me,
do so carefully.
The world is a breath
of fresh air I have not taken yet,
not reached yet
and somedays I curl up
within myself
and other days I wonder
how many moments
and doubt - filled nights
separate me from you.
Somedays, I want to run
I want to own the moon,
and others, I still
find myself sleepy at noon,
and I wonder if this is normality,
if I'm the only one
going from one extreme to another.
So when you unravel me,
take time to savour
my incapability to dwell
in passivity.

I can't understand
why everybody is so infatuated
with the idea of
having it "all figured out."
I don't understand my crippling
fear of not knowing;
where did it come from
and who planted its seed?
Because this fear of not knowing
is the forest living within me,
feeding itself with
my paralyzing thoughts
and if I could,
I'd ask it all to stop.
Life is being portrayed as
some puzzle we all need to complete
and I fear stumbling;
I fear the human act of
making a mistake,
because Heaven forbid,
something goes left
instead of right.

You make me wish
I couldn't care less,
you make my soul
want to fight my mind,
you make me wish
my heart was carved
out of indifference, passivity.
You make me wish
my thoughts were
filled with apathy, not empathy,
you make me wish
I was subtle, not bold.
And you make me question
if being intertwined is equal
to being free,
if human warmth is equal
to a smile,
if your body next to mine
is equal to happiness.
But the truth is,
I am filled with care from head to toe;
I care about poetry,
and sunsets, and stars
and all the little things you overlook
because you think they'll last forever.
But I'm perfectly fine,
just like that.

The prison bus
passes this way

every now and then,
surfacing without

warning—a leviathan
of metal, grease, and glass

its dark windows secured
by squares of rusted wire

its diesel engine heart
spewing exhaust that

turns morning rain
the color of seawater.

The prison bus
does not stop
for stop signs;

red lights are nothing
but violent memories
strung in an overcast sky.

When the bus strikes
something in its path

the prisoners bounce
slightly in their seats,

lifted into
impartial air

liberated
momentarily

by the familiar
co-conspirators
of blood and laughter.

In his dreams,
the guard who
drives the prison bus
circumnavigates the globe,
plowing through clouds
of insects that shimmer
like fuel above the road.

I sent you a message today
It reached an infinite abyss
Or maybe someone else
Or possibly no place at all

But those words were meant for you
And even though you're gone I can't accept the truth;
That you'll never respond.