I'm in favor that return,
Neither of us can tolerate this, in vain,
Season of travellers dressed red pain,
Strange ghosts, figures without eyes,
Pale faces with speechless cries,
Die on paths to paradise,
As lost memories recollect faded purposes,
Beseeching unappeasable promises,
Offered nearer to hope before despair,
suspended nowhere, reflecting a loitering nightmare,
Closer to their decayed bodies, their rotten flare,

I hope we compel our senses to return,
Enchanting fancies delude souls' Yearn,
To places swaying between sleep and dreams,
Where the unknown devours awareness beams;
See soul, supple promises have no signs here,
But whispers among whispers twitter near,
Unnatural tales in voiceless words in timeless sleep,
Divert eager faith, that courageously weep.
The closest to me, backward, we better creep.
To these worldly loving hearts who discern
where faiths convert concern to deep concern.

Written by
Jamal Abboud