How many corridor views
I could imagine and see
How many ways and stations,
And turns in shadows
In a distant highways,
I walked on a dusty roads,
Where many steps in black
And white I could follow,
But I choose myself, flying
In my tiny ballerina shows "
Just dancing in the air of hope,
Without to find the real you…

How many roads with flat and
Shining pavement of stones
I walked " to see unique crowds
Dressed in elegant fashion coats,
In grey, red and beige "
But I just turned away to the bridge
Just to follow myself, in my so
Old fashioned childish tutu dress.
without to find the real me...

How many forest paths, covered
With mud and thorns and rose hips
I had to view, to search,
But roaming in myself,
In my only body, my own legs,
My own arms, my own *******,
My own face, my own eyes
I finally found you "
Your unique self "
Waving to me from
The other shore…

- nour -
   June-013

why did you have to smile at me..
could you not of just walked on by and ignored me..
i noticed you first..
you had this luster to you that i wanted to hold you close and smell your hair..
vibrant skin, eyes the color of the earths emrealds..
long brown hair seem to flow with no wind..
and then the smile as we walked on by eachother..
that smile made my heart race..
that smile made time stop..
that smile silenced all sound..
for just a moment..
it happen to me..
i watched you walk on by as you faded away never looking back..
your smile added colors to my soul..
a color of rememberence, and a color of never seeing you again..

The light here was different..
I knew the day..
But only today..
I did it..
I took a step back in time.  
And I went back to one minute ago.
Time travel and its apocryphal meanings were proven wrong..
The past runs on the memory of light..
On the same light that illuminates our dreams..
The stars were leaving to the future..
I could see them..
Even light had a hard time keeping up with time..
To travel forward to my time I did not use a machine..
All I had to do was remember what today looks like..
The present as flowing..
And thus my soul returned to the missing tessellation piece it was a part of..
As the gear that makes time flow.

a protest against emptiness?
the failure of forgetting the beginning of touch?
an unanswered question?
the sky inside the roots of trees?
the desert inside the heart of rain?
the dreams of the heat of the earth inside cold stones?
an uninterrupted dance of absence and semantics?
the memory of photons from the moment of conception?
the steam of bodies in the quiet air?

what if love is this cosmic urgency,
emergence with myriad faces,
a protest against the liveliness of
nothingness?

You can see it
When it is going to rain
Trees turn up their leaves
It will rain within the hour
It is fail-safe
(It’s actually usually within the half hour)
I’ve never seen it be wrong
There have been times when I’ve
Seriously doubted
Rain was on the way
But the trees knew better than I
I now use my rain detecting talent
To let my youngest grandkids think I can
Make it rain
Trees can help humans
Be magic