those are black nights
in black days
here in africa
just in the voice of wild jungles,
I'm standing by my dry feelings
looking for the stars lights,
I have to run and run
Through the trees of dreams
out of the hell
no mercy
no death
just a great lies
in the black nights

This is my city
Stay in its old alleys.
Spread your golden hair in her sad pillows.
And nap a little
Over the cemetery of wishes
Perhaps a light coming out of the baskets of death
and fills the mouths of wailing women ..

I carry others my tragedy
Peg to escape from the truth ..
God and human beings ..
And when I realize that God is a word
Human beings are a word too ..
I clean my mind ... and I penetrate inside my self  ...
To re-stuff myself
by the guidance of the truth
that I am A word too ..

It is difficult for the sea
to hide its fishy scent,
and it is strange that it is the wine we enjoy at noon hot,
and that we all get high with it all the time.
The sea has no meaning without its fishy smell,
and it is funny to imagine it with the smell of cloves.
The sea will die at that time and will desert visitors of sadness and visitors of sweet memory

dark hollow orbs
are crossed by the simoom of ignorance
The ears are not enough
And where there is neither day nor night ..
they Creepingly
Fumble with sharp rock heads
To draw a map in touch memory.
Great horn laments
So they point their ears towards the sky ...
The lovebird flies, running away, breaking leagues of flame like a black arrow
To pollute the purity of sadness
orbs sign without no goale
Confusion pours out of the sweat of sins
and horn laments
Behind the crowds
There are mountains of skulls
And in front of them the darkness of their orbs
And above them the horn groans
And below them are Fangs of rocks like butcher knives.
creeping slowly
Ants overtake them
Lizards, spiders and birds
And the monsters prey on the last of them..and keep howling and besiege them ...
Sometimes they leave them to propagate
Desert hurricanes accumulate sand particles inside their orbs..
They wipe it off with their swollen fingers.
it comes out with some blood, mucus and pus.
and worms that grow in the hollow of exhausted bodies..
They are still productive despite everything ...
Still

who is need three dimension,
if we live in one?
look around you,
recognize trees and other things.
just shadows trick
that makes you feel a shallow feature is embodied.
exactly like love.

We are not naughty
We are rich.
All we have is to feel this world
To sink into existence ..
Homeless people do not have closed boxes
called it an identity.
They do not have little goddess idols that do not match the enormity of the world ..
We have our feelings ...
We are swallowing the world morning and evening ..
We are staring at the sky for a long, long time ...
We are not poor my friend ..
We have nothing
Because we have everything ..
We own the world ..
And in our brains we have the imagination of a woman whom we will never meet.
And when we cross the small river ..
as a hungry homeless guys..
We cry over the fish we catch ..
Then we eat it and laugh.
We are not poor my friend ..
We possess the treasure of our open feelings without end.
did you understand me?