Summer Wind

The breeze that smells of greens, Of sweet rain and seeds, I know what it means, It’s the Wind from my dreams. (…) Everything that seemed to be gone, Returns at the purple dawn When the Summer Wind carries on Its lightweight path I’ve drawn. Bruxelles

Birds

Will you hold my hand When birds leave for the South? When I taste tears in my mouth? Will you hold my hand When storms destroy their nests? When my eyes is where sorrow rests? Will you hold my hand When they fail to return? When all my dreams burn?

Dreamless Night

Fell downwards in a spiral of thought, Only to land on a pillow of sleep. A seamless nightmare I fought, Then faded dimensions deep. Nothing at all except soft oblivion, Magrittian dream didn’t stop by, And non-existence was my vision, Couldn’t even manage to ask why. Bruxelles

Drive

The moon is still peering at us from above, Don’t wake me up, too early for love. It’s six AM, In my hands A hyacinth stem. There he stands. Car door open, Smiling at me, No words spoken, I won’t flee… But the moon is still peering from above, Don’t wake me up, too early … More Drive

Baby

Paradise Or even Eden, Both Eldorado And the Holy Grail Are within a few words. Further If you talk To a butterfly That grows wings Over a world of its own. Fruit And Flowers Of lush gardens Are nothing against The land of imagination. Where Among dreams, Nightmares, fancies, It keeps dancing around While He … More Baby

Brown Eyes

They say I’m as sweet as chocolate, Not even the dark kind, But with caramel droplets That would make others blind. They think I’m as strong as coffee – Not as much as espresso… Maybe a latte kissing toffee? Still, I energize presto. Truth is, I’m as bitter As unsweetened cocoa. Or flowers that wither, … More Brown Eyes

Pour M. Lazhar

Je suis une chrysalide, J’étreins ton corps comme une branche. Sans toi, je suis un vide, Ça, c’est la verité franche.   Si je pouvais m’ouvrir, Mon amour serait un papillon, Un être qui va jamais mourir, Brillant comme un rayon.

Dreaming High

The light of your cigarette Glows like a burning star; The lawn is getting wet, Our minds dream high and far. My hair is a thousand birds Flying southward down my spine, And when you say those words Your lips taste like red wine.