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Life is
fake,
life is
real,
life:
a concept,
thoughtless spiel.

Flesh bag, flesh sag,
stitched to fragile bone,
jelly eyes
**** the light,
as brain
devours the whole.

Gibbered lips,
cast to the air
the only tale they're told,
a truth, a truth,
that casts no light
beyond it's owners trail.

as curtain falls,
night takes its bow,
and words, they fade away.

a history, cast out of sight,
henceforth to be unknown.
///

*Nature was so mature to bring the rain
She was still muddy after that pain
He took that sad song
And knew how to love her too long

The rain was falling on the very dry land
And he was holding her on a hard stand

The heavy rain,
Very rain was falling and
Flowing through the vein and vale
And the mud was gathering on the feet of the dale

The wet heavy mud,
Soft elastic after the long flood

He had a pair of keen eyes to see the pore spaces,
And had seen her in so many pale faces

When the new fresh dawn came
God sacked her from all the blame
He collected all the mud from the dale
And made her mural on the vale

///

@ Musfiq us shaleheen
He took the sad song and tried to make the song better, after a long rain he got mud on the feet of the dale and finally made her mural after her death.
The sky is so tragically beautiful;
A graveyard of stars.
 Sep 2014 zeineb bouhaouel
ns
art
 Sep 2014 zeineb bouhaouel
ns
art
It's hard comparing you to art
But if you were a painting
You would be an abstract
A splash of colours
A spiral of emotions
A series of imagination
A whole new perspective
A picture no one could fathom
That's you
You are art

*ns
forget the picasso's
the monet's
the da vinci's
even the van gogh's
you're the most beautiful piece of artwork
that anyone will ever get to feast their eyes upon
and you're right here
sitting alone in my private gallery
and all it took to get this masterpiece
was a few late nights
and endless conversation about things that don't matter to anyone else
and then you were mine
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