Just Improvise.

Why to suffer from Sadness, Toxicity, and Love?!. Just remember that:-

”Life is a lot like jazz… it’s best when you improvise.” _George Gershwin.



Selfie, what is it in there?

Humans, trees, pets, and new types of narcissistic creatures…

Eyes, leafs desires, fatherhood..

Blue sky back grounds, walnut floors, a curved full womb..

Pale skins, drought, a baby boy called ……; born in poverty.. ,

Lovely Red haired, dishes of strawberry, poverty, someone is absent….

a fantastic female, stand up honey, take a deep breath, it is still early to die.

Lovely earth still needs your tenderness…

Scandalous life; ribbed off as shades shines..

Felt the pang in his fifty first birthday party..

Body language disappeared; gloomy risen facial expressions; selfie portraits..

Should we still remember twisted wedding dress that night? A fantasy.

Give rise to an affordable black leather sandals; dominating selfies.

Gosh!.is it selfie’s insincere conscience..

Enjoying life’s sarcastic insanity!

Once you get disarmed of that stick,

Can you still bravely recognize yourself again?

A selfie; an honest mirror- deeply doubtful.

the last serenade..

As he approaches her cottage, she could feel his heart beats; Can it be true? She whispers. After all those years, he is back; I must dress up- I will put on the velvet dress he adores. His foot steps are becoming closer and closer; she hears knocks on the door. Gosh, where is the perfume he bought me on our first Valentines day? Here it is and I will just play the music we used to dance to all night long.

She rushed down stairs to the main door; My God, you are still so handsome love… But why sadness fills your eyes?. I am sorry baby, tonight you will go to bed listening to the serenade I composed especially for you. With no regrets; darling, read my mind- a gorgeous red-haired is an aspiration- a fresh blossom.

Texture; Manhood

Adam is still confronting tons of blockades since he embarked on a journey to achieve a long desired radical revolution to own present routine. A journey to generate pleasures that transfers him-as a man through time to his mid-twenties. The enthusiasm has accompanied him for years as he was held back by prehistoric traditions pinned in solid believes that was deeply planted in every cell. Adam suffered, yes and in total silence; manhood, bravery and dignity to be maintained unscratched.

A revision of his life style, though essential, is useless. Illogical explanations looms as ugly thoughts approach darkened souls. Man, get rid of it all-if any. Unwelcome current long-lived textures; lust, fear, longing. Craving for a warm blossomed breath with a gentle hug till sunshine. Morning light ignites his grey hair taking him places; another illusion of a back to life lie. Long straightened dark black hair used to lay all over him on cold lonely winter nights. A tenderness that has gone astray when the wind of jealousy conquered her fifty-three years back at the shores of a dry lake.

Turned to a fragmented soul, brain’s power fading so does the testosterone factory production; sick of continuous manly performance failure, he wonders-till when? Remembering the swan lake could neither heal bleeding wounds nor the pulse tenseness. Dawn textured a thread of lies; babe is returning to the gentle custody; noisy entertainment overwhelms as his bones shiver. Will she ever? he murmured. Red curtain falls on another fake curvy texture; awaited in tranquil man’s misery in his quest to escape his long-lived mid-life crisis rhythm.

The womb.

womanSometime at late fifties, on a dark winter night, on a small sea side village full of farmers lived a young boy called ”Nameless”; seems nuts. His mother got trapped between the father who sails eight months a year and a nasty boss who is around daily as she cleans the office and serves his coffee. Admit it, an old approach to life, cheaters are all over, regardless. ”Nameless” has got no education till lately. He learned the hard way, begging for passion and tenderness but mainly for house expenses that Father used to waste on the blond- Boss’s assistant. Damn it, ”Nameless” can take it no more. Father, left them to poverty that torn them apart. Mum has longed for a brave husband to defend her. The boss was a demanding cowered; just as the husband in most of the nights he was around.

How do you think son’s feelings were like then? Never mind, now he just doesn’t care. She used to plea for mercy time and time again. Surrounding males’ approach stinks ones soul. At those times, ‘’Nameless’’ saw it all. But, unfortunately, he was so weak to fight back defending his fragile mother. Mother surrendered and collapsed. ‘’Nameless’’ lost interest of school’s home works. Failed with all life’s aspects. A life that made him as fragile as a bleeding womb. A female attitude in a male’s body, toilet, and name maybe. Not sure of it all. Life has turned bleak just as mother’s cracked womb. Is it still hard for you to remember when Mum was as fresh as a morning blossomed rose, slushy as fresh honey?! Damn you Dad; if I may- We literally were turned into walking dead. Under the shower, bloody water drained away tears of  grief as it smoothly slipped over the shoulders. A totally new womb melted with anger. Curtains falls on a miserable scene; father arrives at the door step; Sorry, you are no more welcomed, neither is the Boss.