I move through life with a desire to visit the lakes that I miss wandering near. I long to meet those who read my lips instead of my palms, to give them a hand that is good for nothing and receive a hand that reaches for the impossible, reaching beyond space.
Sometimes I seriously wonder why Paris could be farther than Rabat. even at this age my head could not deal with distances. Recently, I visited the Kasbah with a sad heart, walking with a hunched back and withering eyes. I found a map in front of a popular restaurant, and indeed, Paris was farther than Rabat.
Distance is a measure of safety.
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Taste Of Anger
PoetryI choose anger instead of sorrow I prefer madness over sadness I never want to be a victim. cover © : SIILDA
