Allow me to sift awal
And pick up tiguriwin
To give you atig
Your beauty is an irwan
From the great mother, Aphrodite.
You are tisit
That reflects the face agrram.
Your eyes are islmammayn.
Your hair is izenzaren.
Of the sun tamqrant.
Your lips are the leaves of flilo
Your teeth are taqqayin.
Your tongue iHuch
On behalf of your ul.
Your voice is tamawayt.
Your neck is turtit.
Full of tamemt.
Your chest is abrid
that leads to aghbalu
Where I would like uddum.

Unlike the body,
consciousness does not age.
I realized this today
when I saw an old man
dragging his dying flesh
to the table
and dropped it off
on the chair.
He then took his newspaper
and a small flash-light
and started to examine
the words.
Consciousness is never worried
about the dying body
because,
it is very much aware
of its own eternity
which oudates all objects.
It is
the energy that
brought about everything
and around which
all cosmic events orbit.
It is the consciousness
of the cosmos,
the only God there is.

Oh foggy fog what you do hide inside !?
Where do you come from:
A contact with the sea
Or your essence is but a course
Marked by immortality?
What is that decision that makes you fly high?
You cry
You light
You shout
You flash
And sometimes you walk in silence.
What are you in all your repetitive stumble?
What destination is that you are chasing?
What evolution?
Oh foggy fog what do you hide inside !?

They looked at you
As a work of art
As a masterpiece.
Then they took you
To the auction
Where beauty collectors were gathered
To bargain the price
And outdo each other
To finally own you
And metamorphose you
Into a decoration
For their filthy walls,
And to show off.
For me,
I did not place the price tag
On you,
For you are priceless.
So I did not buy you;
I stole you.

I am the great spirit
And I desire you.
So Get ready for
The great odyssey.
Submit yourself to trance
Dance
Bleed
Dominate the scene
Be the voodoo
Be the sacrifice
For me
Be possessed
Be no longer you
Be no longer there
Let your aches be the limbo
Let your body be the medium
Let you be the vessel
For me to dwell.
I am the great spirit.

I display
And when you choose,
I become the Love Bug.
I will take radical decisions.
I will trespass any removable plug.
I will submit myself.
I will lock my phallus in you,
And I will toss away the key.
Only I can inseminate you.
The rest of my life
Will be spent in copulation.
Only death will put an end
To my commitment.
Only death will do us apart.
And when I die,
You will be destined
To drag me around
Until you give birth to
Another Love Bug.

Is this a metamorphosis of words?
That shift the paradigms of worlds?
Letters chasing the horizon?
****** for a raison?
Does the beam deviate request?
And then romanticizes the quest?
But yet, be it as it may seem,
Sacred be the question.

"You are a but a snap in me."
says the universe,
"and I don't give a ****
about your history
about your evolution
about your Languages
about your beliefs
about your gods
about your politics
about your survival
about your  past
about your present
about your future
about your memories
about your existence
about your absence
or if you're part of me
I don't even give a ****
about me.
I commit suicide
from time to time
I like to expand
and I like to crunch.
do you think
you matter
to me?
do you think
you can take revenge?
do you think
you can conquer
the void?"

From the very first glance
I was seized.
O woman of no choice!
You are the focal of anima!
You have been created
In God's image
In me.
You are the archetype.
O woman of inevitability!
I have no choice but to love.
And from the very first glance
You were seized.
I am a man of no choice!
I am the focal of animus!
I have been created
In God's image
In you.
I am the archetype.
I am a man of inevitablility!
You have no choice but to love.

In your *******
Your beauty
Is compressed.
When you walk,
Eyes chase you
To sip
For the ached soul.

I was told
Traveling makes men
Wise and fully awoke.
So I handed myself to tripping
And I saw
The vastness of the universe,
All cosmic events,
The biography of Man,
the absence of justice
And how things work.
So, when I came back home,
I decided to live
With one mighty truth:
We are all
The offspring of chance.
Wipe all your tears,
Curse the void,
Comb you hair
Wear perfume,
Smile to the one you see
In the mirror,
And ******* live.

By Atlas Akhoullou

A hunter you're not
When you're guided
By your shadow.
Blind you are
When the shadow blocks the sight.
You are drowned in lies
If you're satisfied with the shadow
you see in others.
Wherever you look,
Your shadow covers the sight.