The killer and the thief

I went through the trees to see an empty house, the door was opened yet light refused to go in. I wondered what lays in the depth of the darkness. My grandmother says that the darkness is made by a crowd of dark souls … Now why are they all trapped inside?

I got in and suddenly I was the light and I saw my path written by my fate. The sound of music came to my heart then to my ears and it was nothing like I have ever heard before. The music pulled me in to a room where a devil plays a violin.

“Child, come inside. Stop hiding yourself with that light.”
“I thought darkness hides and deceives and truth shines in the light.”
“Darkness reveals our true souls, unaffected with the beauty of the skin and it lets you see your fears that were absent in the light.”
“I can see your face … It’s nothing I would want to see. Your eyes are wiped out like pencil tracks on paper and you’re darker than this darkness!”
“Didn’t you see the beauty in my sounds? Free me from my prison and I shall give you my wings.”

“What will those wings give me?”
“You will be able to travel in a blink, I will give you a position in our kingdom and you will be the last human to die.”
“Why would I want to be the last and lose my loved ones?”
“I will give you a book and inside you will find all of the answers.”
“Where is the key then?”
“That, you must find out on your own.”
“Who locked you in?”
He ignored to play the violin again …

She went out to see … Where is the key?
She stepped on pain and she cried in agony …
It was a room of thorns placed to kill but not the virgins and in the very end shines a rose that was one of a kind. She wanted it like a baby wants his bottle of milk and she stepped on every thorn there was to reach the rose that was worth the trouble. Then she had to walk out and that was worse.

The rose spoke to the little one …
“Don’t fall for the wings! He eats the virgin girls! My prince locked him in so he can’t steal the children anymore.”
“He promised me things and he plays poetic music … How can something evil be so beautiful?”
“I am responsible for the spring … If you don’t put me back all of the roses will die! There will be just the cold winter and the dead autumn.”
“Be quiet.”

She came into the next room to see an old pale woman was combing her long white hair while she was mumbling and laughing by her own.
She had one look at the girl with her red eyes and flew to her as fast as a hunting hawk who went for his prey. The girl froze in fear and the old woman jumped on her forcing her to obey and hold still. A necklace was hanging from her wrinkled neck and it was pointing at the girl’s mouth.
“You’ll be a better dinner … I’ll stuff you first with onions then I’ll cook you with my herbs, then …” She grabbed the necklace and ran as fast as her legs could. “COME BACK WITH MY HEART!!!”

The old woman couldn’t leave the room and that was a relief.
“I wonder what I’ll get my hands on next … What if I tied the necklace on the rose?” She did exactly that then they flew and she went to catch them.
They dropped suddenly on the ground and it was the sound that broke the silence … Suddenly a grand coffin started to shake and someone came out. It was a handsome prince!

“Thank you for setting me free … How can I repay you?”
“I … I was trying to free the poor demon in the prison.”
“I will set him free if you marry me.”
“Yes! I do.”

The birds flew from every window, light finally came in … Beautiful servants carried the wedding dress, the place turned into a garden of colours, the rose turned into a crown and the necklace into a ring.

They kissed after the marriage vows then the place faded away …
It was the demon himself … His way out of the prison was through the coffin and his way out of the house was a bride that will fall for the spell of beauty.
He smiled at her with his ugly face, the crown turned into dust then nature died and now she is the devil’s wife in a portrait of washed off brown, grey and pale death with no wings to escape.

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Caramel Macchiato

Writing is not always art, it’s not art when the topic is about politics. How on earth can a man of politics calls himself an artist except for the master of bullshitting art? Buttering and stabbing sums most of the politics men. They just spread hatred and try to make a living by making up problems that isn’t there to feed on the anger of the brainwashed. Media is the best seller of the art of bullshit.

An bullshitter, I mean a politician and a writer … I mean “An Artist” sat in the back of a cafe waiting for an inspiration to come. Have I mentioned that he’s a poet? It’s just a title for he cares about balance and rhyming more than the overflow of emotions that a true poet should have. Poets are known for their sweet hearts but sadly the ones who get famous are mostly machines.

He ordered his drink, watched the young girls with their detailed orders and their faces expressions that show the emptiness in their heads along with their empty conversations, bragging, fake compliments and the love of gossip. “A generation of idiots with smart phones … It’s exactly what the world needs … Isn’t it marvellous how the world produces burdens and then uses copy and paste?

Ahhh, what a lovely lady sitting in front of me … So young and precious. Those innocent eyes took me off my feet, those lavish lips are like the rich cream on those rosy cheeks of cake and it’s a shame that those lips are going to waste when their sweetness melts in that bitter coffee … I’m not even sure who is drinking who … This is exactly what I need; something new to carry me away rather than my usual cup.”

The girl couldn’t help but notice that pathetic old man who is trying to renew his youth by forcing an eye contact so hard just to trigger his fingertips. He kept looking at her and words came out like bullets. He was amazed by her stunning beauty that rhymes in harmony with English tea. He moved his eyes right and left to see if that Mona Lisa smile would follow him back.

“All I wanted was to enjoy myself … To come here and feel carried away by my senses to the heaven of clouds that my warm drink would make. I came to excite my taste buds with the taste of good life and to smell the freshly brewed coffee beans mixed with the smell of wood and a touch of lavender with hints of cinnamon and to stir the cream in my coffee and watch them blend like colours would on a painting and to pour the milk generously like a god would pour rain on the thirsty and to see that caramel sauce fall delicately and melt in the meeting of her new lover. All I had is a disturbance of creepy eyeballs fixed still on me like a cold end of a gun placed right in my forehead.”

Concept of beauty

image

Isn’t it ironic that most people would do anything to get some pieces of clothing just because it is made by a famous designer? “How could you say it isn’t beautiful?!!! It’s by Zuhair … What do you mean you don’t like it? This is designed by Valentino!!” I hear this alot, especially in a society that rewards you by your amount of money and judges you by what brand of shoes your feet are wearing. Let’s see this in another way …

Why would you look in the mirror sometimes and be unsatisfied? Why do you call yourself ugly, hideous, bad looking and so on? Why would you hate some features in you and try to change it with plastic surgeries? Aren’t you made by the Almighty creator of the universe? Aren’t you made by god; the perfect and the flawless? Aren’t Zuhair, Valentino or whoever are created by god and are imperfect human beings who make mistakes?

You are made by the greatest and you should be proud! How couldn’t you be? Your existence is not a coincidence! You are here because god has chosen you to be and god has created you with love, so how dare you say that you are not beautiful? Beauty is appreciated in different ways by different people and that is the beauty of it; we are all beautiful according to this law of nature which is created by god like you.

Look in the mirror and say -” I am created by god and I am beautiful. God loves me enough to put me in his universe and he took time to create me because I am worth it.” Look at this bird of pride in the photo; he is beautiful and he knows it. Meditate in god’s beautiful creations, there is a lesson waiting to be appreciated in every atom.

Sand castle

My mother, who is obsessed with order, told me today -“Stop building castles from sand, it will only create waves of rage and drown you.” Dying inhaling my dreams sounds like a good escape to me. I built my castles of sand and it will not break, but fly with the wind and settle everywhere chaotically like petals do when seasons change.

I want my dreams to be everywhere and out of order. I’d rather drown in my beautiful dreams than to be choked with the bare hands of reality; the serial killer of love and fantasy. It is the air in this sick world that is suffocating, I’d rather drown my head in emotions which are carried under those overwhelming waves of rage.

A moment have made all the difference

Those Trees took off their orange gowns to put on silky green. Those roses; the sleeping beauties, have worn their sensational perfume and blushed their velvety cheeks. The moon danced the pavane on my river living a love fantasy.

The river broke waves to greet him in a beautiful rhythm creating music along with the rose-breasted grosbeaks which refused to sleep. When he arrived, stars threw their selves beneath his feet for they are unworthy to compete with his eternal glow.

His light defeated the darkness of the night and his vivacious laugh poured on nature to comfort her mourning soul. He blew kisses in the air and they flew like butterflies in a dream and the inspiration roses have tried to collect them like pieces of fine poetry.

All that nature needed from those deep honey wells of heaven is a glad gaze, a gaze that would make her feel loved enough to grow beautifully till she dries of longing for a second date.