In the frozen aisles of Manhattan,
Where time is but particles of anxiety,
And coffee tastes of a bitter escape,
I write to you…
You, who think Love is just "data" in a digital cloud.
Stop.
Listen to the clatter of spoons in overcrowded cafes—
They are not stirring sugar;
They are tolling the forgotten bells of memory.
Deep within you, "magical beings"
Are writhing from the cold beneath expensive wool coats,
Aching for the scorched heat of the Meroe sun,
And the agonizing plunge into the Aegean Sea.
O girl searching for "Meaning" in mirrors,
Love is not a reflection…
Love is a Black Hole that swallows your spatial fear
And hurls you into the "Non-polar System,"
Where there are no directions… save for the Heart’s.
Go out into the streets!
Tear up the Google Maps that cannot navigate your longing.
Weep.
Because Stephen Hawking never wrote of the gravity of an embrace,
And because Brian Greene never found the "Strings" that vibrate
When the ghost of your beloved haunts the "Abyss of Night."
Weep.
Until the mascara of modernity bleeds from your eyes,
And the "Innocence of the Girl on the Swing" emerges from a derelict park—
The one still waiting for a Kiss
To break the icy monopoly of "Logic."
Our love…
Is not a "case study" in psychological labs;
It is the Fires of Mesopotamia,
The Semiotics of a Rose blooming from Nothingness,
Scenting the air above the human crawl and the roar of trains.
O beauties of Brooklyn and L.A.,
Human consciousness is a Singular Universe,
Do not let it wither in the dungeon of "Boredom."
Love is the Bisht that veils the nakedness of the soul,
The "Fingerprint" that total digitization will never erase.
Go out.
Feel the earth’s agony beneath your feet,
For the story "Will Not End"
As long as a man from the furthest reaches of the Nile
Knows how to transmute Gas into tears,
And Void into a total Fullness of kisses.
Feb 17
Feb 17, 2026 at 7:19 AM UTC
In the frozen aisles of Manhattan,
Where time is but particles of anxiety,
And coffee tastes of a bitter escape,
I write to you…
You, who think Love is just "data" in a digital cloud.
Stop.
Listen to the clatter of spoons in overcrowded cafes—
They are not stirring sugar;
They are tolling the forgotten bells of memory.
Deep within you, "magical beings"
Are writhing from the cold beneath expensive wool coats,
Aching for the scorched heat of the Meroe sun,
And the agonizing plunge into the Aegean Sea.
O girl searching for "Meaning" in mirrors,
Love is not a reflection…
Love is a Black Hole that swallows your spatial fear
And hurls you into the "Non-polar System,"
Where there are no directions… save for the Heart’s.
Go out into the streets!
Tear up the Google Maps that cannot navigate your longing.
Weep.
Because Stephen Hawking never wrote of the gravity of an embrace,
And because Brian Greene never found the "Strings" that vibrate
When the ghost of your beloved haunts the "Abyss of Night."
Weep.
Until the mascara of modernity bleeds from your eyes,
And the "Innocence of the Girl on the Swing" emerges from a derelict park—
The one still waiting for a Kiss
To break the icy monopoly of "Logic."
Our love…
Is not a "case study" in psychological labs;
It is the Fires of Mesopotamia,
The Semiotics of a Rose blooming from Nothingness,
Scenting the air above the human crawl and the roar of trains.
O beauties of Brooklyn and L.A.,
Human consciousness is a Singular Universe,
Do not let it wither in the dungeon of "Boredom."
Love is the Bisht that veils the nakedness of the soul,
The "Fingerprint" that total digitization will never erase.
Go out.
Feel the earth’s agony beneath your feet,
For the story "Will Not End"
As long as a man from the furthest reaches of the Nile
Knows how to transmute Gas into tears,
And Void into a total Fullness of kisses.
