Crazy Dream

She arises the dyeing bright beauties of the sun, in the cold solemn serenity of the moon. Longing the company of the stars the wind shies away. But she just smiles and carries on. Hooded in black she smells of a rose ashen in the furnace of time. As a silent foot rises to warm mother earth, there is a rising of sand following the tread. They pass the desert in search of something, leaving their dead behind and carrying their souls. The thirst dries away like the many garments of life. The glamour of foolishness was buried long ago; the tombstone on it is the world you all live in. They know there is no difference between shame and glory, they know the dwellers of Byblos and the many lovers of Tamouz, they know the threads that wrap an infant’s memory and the reasons behind such bloody stars of history, and they walk following a white dove in the darkest of nights. The spitefully dancing flames of lust were dozed by the blood of passion. They walk on, on and alone into the eternity of the unknown. The hood never lifted yet I know not how she smiled, I guess a part of me walks along.