Author, poet, songwriter, psychologist, messenger

In this journey, I walked alone—with an angel or a few! Then faced my call, stared at my fate—to know that thing I was born to do! I took the leap of the unknown—and how ...

Am I just lost in a narrow random street? Or am I just rejecting the ending scene? Did I waste my life in vain?! In my fraught rush to depart, have I taken the wrong train?!

Shall I accept the party’s mask? To blind my enemies from my sight! Do I make them think I’m one of them? To bring them comfort and perhaps delight! Do I fake their joys?.. And when we’ve played the game for so long, don’t we become the game?

No more space for another coffin, there is a flood. How can man rest in peace when he is buried in blood! Hiding the atrocities under the holy name! Shame! This vicious circle of brutality must now end. It is only love that can salvage.

If I fill my mind with their clutter and watch them idiotically or sneakily brawl, over status or football, will I have space for genuine creation? Don’t Gods create when all alone? In tranquil elation, observing from afar—while roaming in

I returned to the music and festivity, wearing that mask, its grin that aches its face, which ruptures progressively the child— that is hidden behind those grimaces, leading me further to the nowhere, only to dance perfunctorily under a..

I’m searching for that nostalgic moment of brilliant exultation, that high sensation, that enlivening rush— pushing myself further to another edge, without safety, without a net, to measure my vital limits as I grow and learn to live, in times..

In life’s streets, I remain—seeing souls, examining pain. How did I judge?! Oh, how vain! I thought I knew, but I had no clue; I believed in their eyes— that trite fame.

I sail through storms not dumbed with fear— I challenge my absolutes, my far and near. In happiness— I’ll live, and right up to the end, with my truest friend, and that was I.

Oh, time—Quick time—Foe time! I wonder if I can charge you with a crime!