- in the name of Allah - 

how many compositions will I need to write, how much paper will I have to burn, to once again set these embers alight, to once again declare a lesson learned? how long can fumes fuel the flame, when all the wind has blown away, and life has all the torches tamed? could there be any such catastrophe, that one breathes it in again and again, a monoxide to steal away all one's dreams? imagine from this the state of blissful sleep, pouring away all the troubles of pasts un-lived, leaving no cracks in which phantoms may creep. I've had many such moments, alas but with eyes open, where the path I'd taken, was only one the Nomad could've chosen. it had so many thorns, not sharp or pointed, only unkempt truths too long avoided. had I to repeat that choice to let her go, to allow the winds of fate to blow their way, I'd make it all the same, even if I was to be but her astrolabe. how then could one, who'd tasted of a thing so great so little, dare or care to risk the heart again, when he knew the balance of life was a thing so fake, so brittle? for the ones born worldly poor, for the ones who needed truth and nothing more, there is no concurrent alchemy, to extract from earnest blood a means beyond gold or metallurgy. intentions alone cannot pave the roads, stoic hearts cannot tell clear from cloudy skies apart, and such is where my chasm lies, that within these truths, I could not have tasted love a little more, before from me it left to die.