1
On that night, pierced by the sound of rain,
Everything is possible...
When one is washed in cognac,
Drenched in sorrow,
Haunted by the unknown...
And when one refuses to remain a stone.
So why—
Do you consult the coffee cups?
Why—
Do you ask the endless questions?
And why—
Did you come to the sea,
If you fear the journey?

2
Between October and October,
Like the warm sugar flowing from the heart of fruit...
Leave your fate to God, and sleep.
For your ******* come into this world by destiny,
And by destiny, they fade away...

3
Love will come in its time...
So wear your Egyptian caftan.
I now recall the cotton fields of the Delta...
Sit wherever you like,
For the piano concerto
Will erase time,
Erase you,
Erase me,
And erase the burdens we have carried since birth.
Love will come in its time...
And passion will come in its time...
For the piano concerto
Washes all things in camphor and oil,
Melts the ice off the faces of lakes,
Summons strange butterflies,
And brings forth fields anew.
So let things be natural... effortless...
For the piano concerto
Finds its own solutions.
Love will come in its time...
And the piano...
Will call us into its watery chamber,
And I do not know what it will say...

4
Everything is possible...
On that night, pierced by the sound of rain.
Tchaikovsky—
Now passes like a bird through Petersburg’s squares,
Slipping like a green dream from Montparnasse,
Drifting through the memory of roses,
Gathering the yellow leaves of Europe's forests,
Praying in Hagia Sophia,
Weeping in the sacred halls of Najaf,
Between mirrors and golden domes...

5
Everything is possible...
On that night, pierced by the sound of rain.
So wear your Kurdish caftan...
I do not know why—
But I recall Mosul in spring,
The water reeds swaying in the marshes,
The orchards of Al-Rasafa,
And the writings God inscribes
In roses and gold,
Upon the palm fronds of Shatt Al-Arab
At sunset...

6
Good morning, jasmine... are you well?
The piano concerto
Lit the fire for us... then vanished.
Now, I recall the orchards of Al-Rasafa,
The shanashil that line the banks of Al-A’zamiyah,
And the writings God inscribes
In roses and gold,
Upon the palm fronds of Shatt Al-Arab
At sunset...

7
Good morning, jasmine... are you well?
The piano concerto
Lit the fire for us... then vanished.

I've never had a real brush with doom,
But I can't say it came too soon.

For I almost lost everything,
To that ****** error screen.

Long live this, long live HP!

She was August, I was February
months apart, but tied by the same number
Eleven, like a thread linking distant days,  
like Pepero sticks she loved,  
thin, sweet, and gone too fast.  

She was the girl who handed me slippers in the rain,  
who lent me her red, green, and white files,  
who sat in the third row while I sat in the first,  
but somehow, we always found our way to the same place.  

She was fries on one eventful canteen day,  
laughing about weight neither of us really cared about.  
She called herself Snorlax,  
but to me, she was Eevee  
full of possibilities, always shifting, always bright.  

She sent me memes, told me to wake up,  
to sleep early
to try again tomorrow
She saw Natsume in me
though I never watched Gakuen Alice to know why
Maybe she saw the quiet fire I never named.  

She was there,  
and then she wasn’t.  
Distance, time, then silence
life pulled us apart like a ribbon unraveling.  
But somewhere
in the space between eleven and eleven
she still lingers.

Tagpong masaya mula sa distansiya;
Pait at Ingit sumakop sa pusong nag iisa;
Bulaklak, tsokolate, halik at yakap nais madama;
Dasal dito, hanap dyaan kailan ko ba makikita?

Iwaksi at puksain antayin ang para sakin!
Pagtala ng sisi'y di kayang tanggapin;
Pagbura sa kasaysaya'y di kakayanin;
Tamang pagsibol ay antayin.

As golden as gold
Stolen from death is
As long the fate to
Come to be to take.

Livin the dream just
To dream bout life
Irony of destiny had
Be fated perhaps.

Gift of a living heart
With hope in trust
To able giving back
Least to a chance.

Have a compromise
And voice to a cry
Havin done our best
In right to be said.

We will if so we shall
The lord really god
If true as the heaven
Where find our rest.

With days and nights
Comes as without
We do as all be given
To bring nor take.

Empty of hands but
Thou be as might
A few more to have
A soul to dressed.

Of body what pride
In the very divine
Knew as told a well
Free life is death.

But only free is love
And faith if trust
Must be so decided
By as to be it has.

As mistake to done
By as only if shall
Ever be understand
Once flaw of less.

Once learned to cry
As the world thy
Sorrow be our share
Of our happiness.

As soul been robbed
As there is to time
To tell was me to say
Yet kept to myself.

Instead treasure box
And a way to find
A reason of betrayel
To love mores yet.

And after all kept by
my roads a child
Had to walk a danger
Of paths few dared.

The tales be to delight
A soul darkest night
The songs to drunken
From enough a mad.

The laughter and while
To appreciate doubt
For i lived a life so well
As gods call heatens.

And fairytale all the far
From their will might
To ever believe nor can
Hope an coincidence.

Save with all little to die
While aped or clown
After a some or against
mamona a dull pain.

Suffered day and night
Lack of awes asigh
Miracles to once again
raised from deaths.

As thief of a days time
I lived paved in drunk
With golds reason had
To live moretheless.

Death what most alive
I kept watered in lie
To die instead and tell
Themselves instead.

How many had of now
To have passing god
On fields of be a winter
Strangest dear friend.

Year i ran out of wine
As soul of taste not
Picked garden of grape
A least a joy of a day.

As enemies told love
As unknown as far
Had learned to manage
With a childs a glad.

As the wisdom to find
Rather havin not
To be than all to gain
Yet none to have.

Glad of be hard to hide
Life of dear to god
Still wont hear athank
For a sin yet no less.

Heart thought rich once
As well fed i starved
A sorrow of loneliness
Without care in sense.

Since forgiving long time
Passed to care to mind
Yet if in need of bein said
Of brother the brother.

As all said: to call to care.

We’re different, you and me, we’re different
As if we’re made in different worlds indeed,
As if we’re fed on different dew furthermore,
As if we’re covered by different felt on creed.

We’re strange, you and me, we’re strange.
We should go away in all directions, in whole,
Not to be for all, not to touch each other,
To be walled-up behind different walls at all.

We’re crazy, you and me, we’re crazy.
We’ve tried to run away both so often.
But our fate has marked us with a “cancel” sign
And simply decided not let us go, just no one.

We’re different, you and me, we’re different
As if bitter frost and caressing spring in other way.
We have different palettes, you and me, different palettes.
But the canvas is one, one for two of us, anyway.

And we have to paint our further life by the will of fate,
In four hands on one canvas therefore.
You know, I don’t like to paint and I’m not good at it.
I’ll better hold the palettes for you evermore.