waking up snow fallings like white wishes, over London, blanket of innocence everything so pure and bliss, but snow flakes you came too late, because it was last night, my heart melted it!!!

but i knew powerful emotions,

would show my happyness,

in my sleep, dreaming...

because i love the snow.



i curse with my soul,
i love with my heart,
i forgive with my pains,
and it will be so to my last breath,

so nothing can hurt me more,
your silence is no cruel,
but the reflection,
you must face in this broken mirror of yours,

don`t you know,
forgiveness is a gift,
so without a drift,
i only have three words to tell you,

i love you.




As a child, I always knew what I wanted to be: a poet or a serial killer.

Both used the same ammunitions, while the poet kills with words,

The assassin used a bullet but at the end, both listen the whispers of their emotions, feelings to terminate their anguish.


As a teenager, I wanted to be a saint or a whore. Both used the same trick, one sell his soul, the other one sell his flesh but at the end, each ones is searching to escape.


As an adult, I wanted to be a cobra or a lethal rose. Both used their beauty.

One will dance, his stare hypnotise you to inject his lethal venom, and the other one will always prick your heart to piece.


These days, I dream and wish to be love and to love, I dream of the man pressing his lips again mine and wish the sweetest kiss of a lady.

Because at the end of the day, we are all sexual being…



Nights can fall and shadow fills my heart , all i have to do to, to find faiths and see true love is those eyes, there is no lies only purity staring back at you, right to the core of my soul and i know, if sometimes, i feel i have lost faiths in my human fellows, those eyes take me back to hope and i know, love is real




The poet act on impulsion, Outside of his nest, Beauty struck him, like the warm freeze, Such jewels are tears, Rolling upon his lips, Soon, to be turn to ink, To stained the page, Wondering the essence, Who guide his hands, And tarnish light to shadows? Where is the sun, Where the child once enjoyed? Tonight lost in the deep night…

grief has took over bliss, Pains has robbed the ecstasy from his eyes, Cripple blind man, Begging through words, To let him experience again the innocence, The purity of the morning dews, Flirting through his fingers, water kisses.

The poet act on impulsion, When the rage of the child erupt, No remorse control or regrets, Just a vacant grave, to jump and hide his shame, in such hollow worthlessness!

Falling, faster and faster, Light slowly become deem, No stars, no moon, no sun, Silence become gold to the broken soul, Where I go there is no an angels or god, Turning into a ball of fire, ashes to ashes.




Sweet breath stroke my face,

Bitter wind, the back of mother hand!

Such is life, brutally alive

Children’s minds…

The void of the blind man,

Remind me of this love…

A Street name carnage desire,

As I watch my shadow slip away….

Back alleys ways fills with zombies.

Feeding on each others carcasses!

Rotten dreams for mortals!

Puppets of destiny, dangling from the hollow true!

May I hold the strings?

To cut free, and watch crashing,

Such pretty creatures, to falls,

Over the gutter, that is my life!!!




Third attempt to write about it

And all I ever get too is the unzip part!

Trap of the honey sucker,

His bed made of semen petals!

I don’t look or care for excuses,

Yes I was young, so what !

Should I have known better?

When his fingers stroked my skin?

And his words twisted it my mind?

Hidden face of innocence can be so ugly!

I almost forget him, forgive? Who…

Before he did the deed it left on me!

one has to be violated it, my best tattoo.

It seems like the wind was slapping my ass,

When his fifthly hands caressed it my hair.

His sickly voice trying to hypnotised my drunken soul,

And felt my clothes being removed away!

What was the big deal? those crimes happen every days,

I was seventeen, I was no kid,

Oh sure, It took long before I took the knife

And kill my ego used and abused!

Paris, city of the lovers,

Not so sure by the hot poker,

I scream enough for him to give me back my serenity,

By then it was too late!

The man, used a soap to seat on his new trophy,

And if I felt hate, my manhood was hard,

And let him steals my innocence,

Today, I feel nothing, no an inches of hate!

They say rape is a taboo subject,

I say, taboo is the silence that followed it!

I have no more time for secrets,

We all, know secret kills!

It could have been someone else,

Today, I barely remember his face,

More the details of his room,

The pimp of the voice whispering me,

How beautiful, I was,

The lies and the burning soap,

Burning my inside while he took his pleasure,

And felt to sleep like a child.

As I was told youth is wasted on the youngsters!

Woke up naked my mind still fills with blurry flashbacks,

Of what he had done to me,

looking at him sleeping peacefully.

The kid turned to a man,

And shook him, realising his clothes had vanished!

He could barely spoke and order me to go back to bed,

The front door was locked or was it my sanity?

I was a naked trap animal,

There was only one last exit,

I open the window,

And stood on the balcony.

I scream for my life,

He watched me like some frantic creature,

But he knew the look in my eyes,

Was ready to do the jump!

He crawled of the bed of his sin,

And took a key of his pocket,

Through my attire at me

And I run half-naked in the streets of romantic Paris.

There is neither moral or regrets,

I find my way to the train station,

And once more time as I had done thousand of time the night before,

I check my pocket, where I had not find any money or my return ticket.

As my hand plunge one more time in my jacket pocket,

I felt something I had look all night,

My hands retrieved the train ticket,

Was I a joke of the devil?

And all I could sense was the remains,

The burning sensation inside me,

Soap are made to wash hands,

Train ticket to leave, Strangers to avoid

As meaningless to-day the word rape has become.

Sweet seventy, face of an angel

Easy prey, half sober,

Wondering the streets of Paris,

Funny, I still always check my pockets to these days!



If I was your son, I be your seed,

The one who let me out to this world,

If I was a punch, I would choose the one,

You gave to my pregnant mother,

If I was the traumatise child,

I would be the one listening his mother screams,

If you were holding the metal belt,

I would be the kid with the scare,

If you was the one broking glass on the floor,

I was the one walking bare feet upon it,

If there was a closest,

I was the one hiding inside it,

If was an beaten puppy with metal bar,

I was the son force to watched it,

If I was the man who was pushing his wife by the window,

I was the small child, weeping for help,

If I was the man scalping your mother,

I was the one holding the knife,

If I was the son of the woman begging for help,

I was the one ready to push the blade inside you,

If I had follow your path,

I was the animal trap in your cage,

If your were my father,

I would have stop drinking myself to death,

If you were my blood and flesh,

I am glad you took your delirium six foot’s under,

If I had a choice,

I wish, we could had the chance to spoke once,

If I could turn the clock,

I would tell you, I had long forgave you,

If you can hear me from above,

I was simply telling you, I love you dad.




Seating in the back of the school,

We always knew who she was,

The sweet smell left on your dirty knickers

Your crooked little smile,

Little fish, always smiling,

Lunch is ready, fish fingers!




If I was an animal , I would d be a broken phoenix,

Reaching the top, dancing with the fuzzy clouds,

To show you, the pain fuelling my weak breathings,

Broken wings, anyone would be able to follow the trail,

Of ashes burning under the sun and crossing oceans,

Because the child in me never say stop,

Water or fire, are my elements,

The disguise of my pleasure ,

And if he has to listen a lies,

I forgot my address, my mobile and my emails,

I would rather take the blame,

And leave ashes , amnesia over the Atlantic,

I can see the titanic but your name never show,

I guess, you must have been in third classes,

Never stop me to reach for the stars,

I would be the filth and whisky,

Woman delirious to the prospect of freedom,

Dress lifting in the salty air,

Mans stumbling through big ideology of a new land,

And even the sea, would not crash my feeble wings,

Because in life you have to battle to win,

The rain will my mistress and the sun my prince,

My failure so to speak but this is the kid,

The phoenix died long ago,

On a summer day when dreams was allowed,

So please let me dreams a little while,

But if you stay and reach for the stars,

And talk to the tree and your little fluffy friend,

He would tell you the same thing, jumping from one tree,

To the next one, running away, to hollow space,

The shadow on the morning dew grass,

While you sip your coffee,

When I spend the night to cook a feast,

Because I never accept what could be the true,

And your words rest silence,

The trail of his ashes have already disintegrating,

Over the cold water, do you realise you pay the price,

When the sequin shall stop shine,

And glitter on your eyes melting,

is not so bad,

Because I know in my next life,

I be an animal, I shall be a squirrel,

Jumping from dead branches and defecated trees,

But under the rain or tornado,

I would never stop to dream, cos this is all we have…

You can claim the opposite in your throbbing,

When the phoenix reborn from his ashes,

And I see your regrets behind the windows,

I would take all my strength and head straight to the glass,’

Like a silly child I am! Cos in disguise, I am a Bengal tiger,

The ones who keep turning in circle in India,

And the shatter of the glass would be your jewel’s?

The tears rolling please “did you realised it too late?”

But I knew your gentle hands would pick me up,

And burn your flesh, as I would turn again to vestiges,

There is so much time a phoenix can reborn…

But it does means it does not hurt,

When you’re burning dreamless fingers,

Crawls outside the world to let the wind steals my glory tune,

Flew upon the dust I become for you.

And don’t feel so sorry for me,

Just pick the phone by the end of the day,

When the shadow falls I guess all shall have vanish,

Broken glasses, a single feather left on the kitchen table,

Don’t give up the sweet whisper, barely listening,

Will mourn to your ears but I guess it is more easy,

Seating and watch the squirrel,

Ageing but still appealing do circus acts,

Because the dust might have by then disappear crossing the ocean,

To rest and stardust, maybe the omen

Staining your folly nights,

Kid has no shame to show their last remaining moan,

Falling upon the sea,

The morning shall rise with his gospel,

To whisper, “sweet angel your lost!”

Dreams are so rare but I can see your faith hidden,

The same old lullaby holding hands with the same hopelessness,

the pill, hard to swallow to shoot me, while I was flying to you,

Because crazy peoples do crazy things,

And next time, if you see a bird surfing the ocean,

Remember, this is the gosth of your future….






Another place, another soul,

Night planning a feast,

Waiting for a little help from the sunrise,

To finish in beauty, what cannot be…

Dropping a couple of shooting stars,

in silver plate, spice up with crystal pearls,

The moon was kind to let them scrounge,

and the sea to let me drowned,

To hunt the mermaid & borrow her black pearls.

The rain let me used her prized crystal glasses,

Fills with her tears of happiness,

Morning’s dews dress on fallen leaves,

For starter, with a pinch of dreams.

Just a tiny bit to let children’s fantasia,

Is not the quantity but the quality?

Whisper in my ears the first ray of light,

Reflecting on spiritual recipes.

I run all night in the garden of Sodom,

To pick the best truffles,

The mighty look with envy,

My loving hands at works.

Main course, which need cutlery,

When the poet can use his pen,

Gently opening his lips,

Foods for the thoughts…

To make your smile,

In the morning dews.

Do you like the place?

In the middle of the wood,

The smell of the firewood,

Invigorate the senses.

Sacrifice of the tree felt,

Perfect high, to seat above…

discussing the holiness of such tastes,

Or lied down in the grass,

“Did you used to watch at the clouds?

And see them; smiling at you, it was so easy then…

The last days of summer,

“Quick makes a wish”

So you known everything is possible,

Because if you still lying down, fluffy clouds will fills your head.

Time to serve the dessert,

I look up to my lost friend,

And the blizzard falls like no tomorrow,

But I won’t loose those magic beliefs,

“Do you like cloudberry sorbets cloud?”

You might be surprise and be lucky,

And find a broken blue angel,

Tender on the palette…

Look they reflect in your eyes,

Was it a smile or a tear I saw running along your face?

Or maybe still the glitter of the nights before?

Who care when the hope and the romance,

Crack the stones under our feet’s!

Thank for letting me believe one more time,

I blame god to have give me grey eyes

So let pretend for a while,

And let the crow pick your blue eyes,

So I may wake up to the cruel reality,

Or the beauty around who know?

Have you notice the angels,

Spying and blessings it all.

The clouds and the wind,

Caressing gently our faces,

It would be so beautiful indeed,

If sometimes the world was real as such.

Until then, I am afraid,

Oyster would do nicely,

Champagne, were I push my first scream,

Shall intoxicate us a while longer…

We were lucky to have breakfast,

And if the broken trunk was a bed,

There was nothing wrong to keep the dreams alive,

Before the light blind us to reality and coffee.

And all disappears, magic!

The moon is waiting to vanish,

The rain ready to crash her crystal tears,

Maybe we should get back home and take our pen,

Instead to use them to eat, the food of the gods….




India runs through my veins,

Middle Asia, give me one last shoot!

A baisé of Shiva, lick my sins,

And I saw your picture,

Pinned in the back of the shop,

Parvati ready to fight me,

Duality, angels and demons,

Ripped me with thousand arms,

Because I ridded Ganesha,

To take me to the feet’s of Skanda.

Shiva, my loving third eyes,

Blue makeup on your nails,

Hermaphrodite and asexual,

Rob me from all my beauty,

Deliverance all of my sins!

Honeys bee sucking on purity,

Whisper the songs of the mystics,

Mother India, chaos in my head,

wrecked to piece my heart,

With all bestiality and beauty,

Children’s legless, blind give me your eyes,

To never forget mother India.





“Dancing each night with the sound of the banshees…”

Once upon a time, in the early hours of the first day of spring, a tree took root in a beautiful garden. That year, the prettiest wild flowers decided to grow there as a mark of respect and to add a touch of colour.

The young tree was full of promise, right from his early years, passers by would stop and admire his young leaves, tender, green and unspoiled they were. Magnificent, it was, but nobody seemed to know how it got there? After all, his fellow citizens looked pretty dull next to him.
An apple tree was his closest neighbour and even with his jealously red apples, like the blush of a virgin’s cheek, his general appearance was still quite sickly in comparison to the young tree.
His early adolescent years were flourished with compliments. Anyone who was anyone seems to talk about him “have you seen his roots?”
Strong and buried deep in the ground but still, the mystery of his background grew stronger.
Even the apple tree fell under the spell of his beauty, and with time, jealousy turned into secret admiration. After all, for a long time he had been the focus and joy of the garden, when each year, peoples were delighted by his fruits, picking each one with a laugh. Nowadays, nobody seemed to care much about them from the second their eyes fell on the young tree.
And still no one seemed to know from where he came nor his origin.
Solid it looks but flexible it was…
As discover in his twenty years of existence, when one night a thunderstorm decided to give his most prestigious performance right at the heart of the garden.
And the wind came with great strength, the apple tree starting to feel shaky was no longer able to hold of his secret; his golden leaves ripe from his being fell to the feet of his neighbour.
The young tree was left with no alternative but to read these long love letters, written through the years, with a touch of embarrassment, being far from aware of such feelings.
But soon his attention was to be taken again by the storm, whom this time was raging, more than ever, that night. The whole garden was to witness the most tempestuous dance of all, as dancing the wind of the north his mood was and it seem to take great delight to do so with the young tree.
At first with a gentle breeze, shy ballerina setting foot on the stage.
But soon the trunk was bending in the most erotic manner; his flamboyant leaves flirting with the dying grass.
That evening, the moon pushed the moody clouds to shower the all scene with her most delicate dusky light.
Even the wild flowers were stunned by such beauty, all except the apple tree of which the seed of jalousie had took hold of his being, his old grounded roots, could already hear the whispers of the storm, telling the love story of the wind and the young tree. A tale which it was certainly not ready to listen to, even less to accept but, for the time being forced to witness!
How dare such element have the presumption to come uninvited and steal his secret love?
The young tree it is true, was far from being aware of such ill feelings, too busy enjoying himself after all, it had never felt such pleasure in a lifetime, somehow this night was making sense to him…
…The call of nature.
From ballet to tango, shaking from one side to the other, backward and forward and back again. The wind, then, started to slow down, with the first rays of the morning sun, which was himself not prepared to miss the end of the show. And it is with gold in his eyes and the most glorious valse, that it prepared his goodbye.
“It is time for me to go on my journey, but, beautiful young tree, I want you to know, that I will be back for you and in the meantime, I will carry with me the scent of your being to remind me of this glorious night. Do not cry nor miss me, as I will return to carry the seed of this loving night…”
The apple tree kept very quiet but his eyes fed with anger. Fury was already burning his chest. As for the young tree, after such pleasure, fell into a peaceful sleep, forgetful of the golden leaves scattered around him, loving words broken for eternity!
The apple tree decided to take his revenge straight away and choose to put all his energy into the growth of one branch, growing towards the young tree.
Weeks passed by, the rest of his branches started to dry up. Apples grew thinner, his whole self looked sickly except for that only branch…
After the first month, a beautiful flower started to flourish and fast it became a green apple. How extraordinary it seemed, that the rest of the tree was quickly fading away.
The apple grew faster and faster, bigger and bigger, just above the top of the young tree, like a sun of life.
At first so splendid, so colourful, ever so more appetising. But it size became unreal. The menacing shadow of his deed became larger on mother earth.
Whenever the young tree would inquire after his health, a chilling silence would answer him. The apple look so poorly at this stage, that it could only inspire pity and disgust. The trunk had become a twisted figure reflecting, somehow, his bitter feelings.
Sometimes letters of the wind would come to the young tree in the forms of warm breezes; his gorgeous green leaves would shake with epileptic tremors. Whisperings that the wind of the north would be back soon, to take him to a new dance, far away in the land of mystery.
“One more season and I will be there my love…”
Time had come for the apple tree’s final act of deed. In the early hours of the dying summer, he let the gigantic apple fell, breaking one of the young tree branches on it is course to come resting between two of his fresh roots.
And there the apple lay, beautiful and still…
Soon to the horror and disgust of the wild flowers, the most hideous worm emerged. Slowly crawling from the apple, menacing and slimy, the worm began to eat at the trunk of the young tree, ignoring his tears and cries of pain.
It took two long days for the revolting creature to get inside. All that was left was a small black hole.
As he felt his life slipping away, the apple tree, in a weak murmur, decided to confess his rage;
“You have ignored my love for the futile wind of the north and knowing my feelings, chose to dance your insolence! Therefore it is with great delight, that I will watch you fading away with the apple of my sin!
Sin it is, but not as painful and humiliating as the reflection to which you have subjected me…
You are condemned to feel sorrow to the end, and mine too, as I die also; I have given my last drop of essence to create my evil toward you. My eye will not close peacefully until I see your last leaves fall around you motionless and we will see if you dance with such fervour and impudence, when the wind of the north come to find your dead body!”
Days and night pass, and still the hideous creature ate away from the inside.
One by one, the young tree leaves fell to the ground, crippled corpses, once proud and magnificent. All except one who held on ferociously.
The apple tree at this stage was in extreme agony himself but the desire of revenge was such that he would not die until he witnessed the last breath of his victim.
One night, to his dismay, with the sweet murmur of the breeze, he heard the return of the wind. When the last cloud had passed by the moon and the whole scenery was lit up by silver light, the wind of the north finally approached.
In a weak whisper, the young tree told him what had happened.
Great, was the wind anger and deafening his rasp. Thunder flashed in the blackened sky and from his order, lightning fell upon the apple tree who was so hideously dry of feelings, that within minutes, he was embraced by fire. Red was the flame, licking each branch with demonic faces. Loud was the scream of his pain, into the air until disappearing in the silent darkness…
“Your love for me has kept you alive, my dearest” whisper the wind. “ …And with this last leaf which I take from your delicate arm, I will carry you through this mystery land, where long ago, I carried the leaf, taken from the bosom of your mother. Therefore do not feel pain again, rejoice in the fact that your own will reborn from the ashes of sin. But my love, before life runs through that last leaf, I want to give you my last dance”
The force of the wind became stronger and the earth began to shake with humility from such strength. Suddenly like a trapped prince, the young tree felt his dying body lift into the air. And in the most dignified fashion, the wind gave his most prestigious dance, turning to the tumult of emotions, feeling his kisses, dancing to the howl of his loving words.
But time came to say goodbye, and again with the first rays of the sun, the young tree felt his last leaf taken from him, his remain fell into the ocean knowing that somewhere, life will carry on…
Much later were the young green leaf was left to a fertile ground, another tree took root.
His beauty and grace did not take long to be recognised. However, upon his twenty birthdays, a peculiar phenomenon took place.
From nowhere a single apple began to grow. It looked so beautiful and appetising to Adam and Eve….

…But that a whole different story.



It is in pain that sometimes the most nurturing love born…...
It was a sunny afternoon, Sunday if I recall. I was sitting on the edge of a cliff, admiring the scenery. Like listening to classical music, my head was filled with the hysterical howls of the sea, when my eyes felt upon him and his upon my bosom!
“Would you be so kind as to stop and engage in conversation with me?”
He gave me a quick glance, undressing my body. The heat of his youth raping my flesh, I could see his soul…
“Could I steal a kiss from you?”
“I see, you are the kind of fast lover and slow talker!”
“Let me rephrase my question…
It would be delightful to engage in conversation. The subject doesn’t really matter, it is not after all, the knowledge of a study but the passion and understanding of it which make it interesting, as most topics seem to reach the same conclusion.
It is true also, that with such logic, silence would take place but as we know, what could be duller than complete holiness!
Words therefore have a purely simple purpose of aesthetic, useless syllables put together for a specific reason, a means to an end, in that situation to get your attention.
As a matter of fact, I can see that I have yours, finally….
It would be more honest to say that I have been sitting on the edge of this cliff as long as I can remember. Waiting for this minute. But your mind was too busy with meaningless thoughts to take notice of me. That is until today….
Do you believe in destiny? Maybe fate?
It is often, when the soul decides to halt the course of errand searching that it finally finds what it has been looking for. I stop looking for you long ago.
Instead I kept still in the middle of the tornado, knowing and finding great peace there, taking a glimpse at your passing shadow tormented by the storm, and as god is my witness, the sky suddenly believed the truth of my words…
You may sit next to me and enjoy such a delightful view.
I believe you are about to see a completely different picture of what might have been reality…
Look into the waves. Can you see their souls gorging in lusty pleasures?
Or perhaps the painting of the fading sun, licking the clouds with the last remains of his flaming tongue?
May be more to your fancy?
Is that your arm I feel around my waist?
Patience my boy, time will come soon enough to embrace me with such fervour. Do not rush the second, as each one passing by takes you closer to from where you came.
But instead, fill your whole being with the essence of it, taste each flower, poisonous or delectable nectar.
How many flowers have you smelled recently?
Could you tell me the tale of the yellow rose?
How honey-like it feels in sorrowful memory, reviving the sense of the dying, as the blossom opens, the eyes of a loved one close…
But do not let my oppressing words confuse you; pretty sentences they are. Each one a pearl, indeed making a beautiful necklace, which I admit, is exhilarating to place around your neck;
As a token of my love for you….
The sunset is nearly over, the purple shadow about to take place. You have been a good listener but I still sense the urge in you to press your lips against mine.
Strawberry their taste, pink likes the young raspberry.
So let it be, offer you what you have been waiting for and give you my kiss….”
The young man fell from the cliff with a single scream! His head bursting against the rock like a mature cherry crushed between the clumsy fingers of a child.
The last sparkle of light reflected on the obscure water as his body was swallowed into the sea….