Delicate roughness in the desert’s wind delivers whistling through the thickness of the night.
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.
Everyday was a different day but it always feels the same. The best thing is that he can trust him with deadly secrets because he’ll forget about them the next day.
Every night he sits down at the edge of Mark’s bed to tell him a story about a kidnaped boy who lives with them and doesn’t know that he’s a prisoner.
“Does he ever try to escape?” “He doesn’t know that he has to!” “Well, what if he finds out one day?” “If he ever finds out he will try to escape from the green door!” “But … We only have red doors …” “Shhh go to sleep I’ll tell you how tomorrow, remind me.”
“How come I never see him but you do?” “He lives in the mirrors and that is why we don’t have any mirrors in the house.” “Does he look like the monster under my bed or like the one in my closet?” “Thank you for reminding me. I’ll get them out now …”
The man dragged the two bodies on the floor out of the room and as he was leaving he heard “Look, the roof is dripping red rain! Can I use it to colour my drawings? I am out of red and only left with grey.” “Not again … No, you can’t … I have to clean up my mess but you should go to sleep.”
Mark finally woke up from his nightmares on his wet bed but this time a sudden change has been made in the routine. He decided to go to the basement to play hide and seek with his imaginary friend Kram. He noticed a shelf of souvenirs; wallets, watches and pens. There was an old photo hanging on the wall. It was Mark in a school uniform and a man placing his arm over his shoulder.
Mark took the photo in his hands and began to wonder who is this man and why is he in the photo with him? When was this? He took it to the man upstairs. The man was shocked for this was unexpected. He replied calmly with self confidence: “This man is your father, well he was.” “What have you done to him? Where is he now?” “If I were you I wouldn’t worry about it.” “Why is that?” “Because you will forget all about it tomorrow.” “Kram says that you kidnapped me and killed my father. I know he’s right now! You bad old man! You’re the devil!”
He ran away as fast as he could and opened the giant red door and it led to a long path with another red door in the end, each red door had another one behind it and each path became longer and longer with a further door to get to and the more doors he had opened the more hope he lost. This place was designed to make it impossible to escape and it’s not a house at all! Is there an end? “This path looks so long and he’s going to catch me! He’s getting closer and closer! I’m getting tired and I’m out of breath!”
Mark decided to look right and left for a way out and he saw a long window that has light bright green trees looking in from it and the calling light was coming through them and it looked so green. The man was so close to catch him but Mark made a surprising turn and threw himself out of the window.
He died in the arms of Mother Nature embraced by the soft grass. He died a beautiful death between the roses and his shiny sparkling drops of blood danced on his pure legs after crashing between the branches of the trees and through the shattered scattered glass of the truth.
He finally broke free and found salivation! He went out and saw the sun at last! The boy in the story has finally found the green entrance to life and escaped from his miserable death in the black hell. In death he found freedom and a grand white door to heaven.
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.
The sun woke him up kissing his soft lips as she embraced him with warmth to say I love you, his colourful sheets tied his young body forbidding him to leave, the pigeons made love to him through his window with their beaks, untying himself he walked up to the pigeons and they flew lightly, the sea stared at the depth of his eyes with admiration.
He decided to greet the morning with a smile that made the crumbled bread on the Rambla street goes toast. He lived a day with the roses trying to catch his scent, with the country laying paths of glory for him to walk on, with the dancing birds around his head and the sky above him changed her colours when the sun buried herself in red.
The moon then came jealous playing the Moonlight Sonata on his flawless skin to keep him up until his seductive dreams pulled him in saying – “My turn” in thirst for life.
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.