You are a system of beliefs, your mind is the pilot room & the third eye projects outwards the beliefs in your system making reality a flexible reflection. Like a machine, your mind needs fuel of things that motivate you, the fuel determines your destination. Your relationship with your creator & creations feed the virtual reality in your imagination till it emerges with the real world becoming alive. Recreate yourself, your thoughts are either waste of or recycled from fuel & every system needs updating. After believing is achieving. Balance: expand your small self being the better self aiming for the higher self; the piece of God then connect with the universe feeling its energy feeding your inner energy believing in law of attraction, Allah says “I am how my slave thinks that I am, and I am with him if he remembers Me…” Be present to live the present then give back believing in law of karma, Allah also says “If ye are grateful, I will add more (favours) unto you…” – Hanoof Alajmi
He melts in dairy rich moon foam which I want to spread on his toasted forehead. He glows like an armour of stars with one eye that is crystal swan and another that is burning wood. With his breath he stirs my ocean in a scene so delicate which I am afraid to touch then it would vanish!
Diamonds rush with the speed of light
To create a silver chandelier of dreams.
Lovers dance under the glorious angel
For it heals the wounds from every angle.
The pure one hangs above our heads
Like the baby’s musical toys in his bed.
It’s a piece of paradise for us to please
Our eyes, freedom is beautiful tonight!
Photographers, let’s shoot the full moon!
Poets, let’s catch it with weaved silk webs.
My children, laugh when it follows you!
Werewolves, eat! it’s a feast of tasty ribs!
Dead bodies fell from the sky like sweet rain would into the salty sea and the African orange peeks from behind the blues. It takes brave men to sacrifice themselves in unnecessary wars and it takes brave artists to admit that sometimes inspiration comes from the worst murders like this mass suicide.
A man in the horizon is crying, he has hair of waves and his lazy eye is the sun. Women in black and men in white went marching in lines through the thick water towards the sun to melt, to blend and to be.
If I can only stop to admire how beautiful this breathtaking horror looks but time does not exist anymore and that’s a shame. My sins are here for everyone to see as a carpet of red roses, and they scream as I walk on them and their blood flows underneath my feet to wash away, to wash off and to wash down.
The blind ones were lost between the giant swords, black feathers folded their eyes for us to know them and they danced on the sounds of the piano that played on our nerves, the generous man gave away his eye to the blind for them to feel fear again.
The Fire forced her presence and Arabian horses were born out from that fire to fly and take the children far away to their awaiting destinies beyond this pathetic life to start a new beginning with new ways to die for them to look forward to.
Great voices of echoes were spreading rumours about the naked sorrow in the grand theatre of life. Mirrors were surrounding us … Our stained truth was surrounding us. We only wore masks that were glued to our faces and they were torn off along with our faces but it was not an act at all.
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.”
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.
Everything I ever wanted took a form of a man. A man who struts before me like a breathtaking peacock. His eyes look at me with pity stripping my soul off as if they say: “You can look but you can’t have.”
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.