My Writings

Seven o’clock in the morning: Humans extinction in the air, travel in time – for my memory -, suffering from a power outage, numbness in the heart, paralysis in life, sterility in sleep, inflation in monotony, schizophrenia in nothingness, a broken arm of time, erosion in longing, explosion in waiting, collapse in language, contraction of

The Epic of Gilgamesh And I hear the sound of my fatigue loudly, louder than I can bear, I scream without anyone hearing, and the silence is eloquent as much as Bach interprets it, songs of pain and anger.” Gilgamesh says after Enkidu fell into the trap and his friend disappeared from him forever, he

I’m all those characters Tired and carrying my body with me wherever I go from one place to another, like a porter who has lost his sense of all this weight that devours his shoulders, I am all those fake smiles, I am all those masks, all this loss, all this fragmentation, all the wrong

Waiting for Godot Waiting for Godot Finally, it’s yr choiceU choose to do nothingThe Sun rises every morningThe Heart beats every momentAnd, u choose to do nothingLife is like a treeWe r its leavesSometimes, we fall downSometimes, we bloomBut, Life goes onLike nothing happensAnd, u choose to do nothingWe r trapped in timeIn an endless

Our Awareness is an inevitable misery The greater our insight, the wider the gap that separates us from life. In our awareness is an inevitable misery that pushes our meager body towards the abyss. Misery has ruled this world since eternity and will continue forever. Misery is a plague that feeds on our souls and

I don’t belong here I don’t belong here! The problem is that it transcends the issue of materialism, and transcends all aspects of life and social illusion. To say that I do not belong here means that society does not suit me, not in the sense that I’m higher or lower than it, but it

I lost wordsI became a dumb,Bring me your faceTo look longTo comfort the heart,Bring me your faceA flameWhich light up the pathThrough the dark of nightsTwo lights, may return sightTo the sleepless heart,Bring me your faceThe weapon, to be killed againBy the curse of grace,Bring me your faceThe violinWhich the string yearns its melody’s phrase,Bring

Human fear and superstition I don’t know how superstition can captivate you, and superstition alone claims the truth. Truth is a mirage, and a mirage is where the meaning get confuses. Where Truth meets illusion face to face and they become nothingness.You are nothing more than a marionette that has fallen into the trap of

I’m no longer that boy I’m no longer that boy, that stray and absent-minded antelope, who waits at the crater of absence and embraces sleep, burns with the passion and The defeats of the night cook him. I asked God at sunset, if the ground beneath me was made of fine silk, that I would