The human body is phenomenal, but the Man treats it as a waste reception center.
The suffering, sufficient to bring down whoever/whatever in a heartbeat, created by the Man, endured by everybody; I’m not exaggerating the waste that is our race, the human race, which wanted to subject rather than to become integrated into the Whole, to annihilate rather than to create, to destroy rather than to build.
I am sad for the Man and I am sad for myself, I hold accountable this misery but I like it, it follows and understands me.
I hope that when I leave, never will I return.
The life of the Man is estimated and weighed by the gangsters who constitute our Governments.
We break our backs every day, for a few minutes of pleasure, the illusion of a home, the fever of wealth, savings which, nevertheless, leave us unfortunate. The pain inflicted but the Man, free or paid cruelty.
I like Life, but as soon as the eternal rest will open its arms to me, I hope to never return.
Cruelty in a state of awakening, asleep, in the rain, hungry, thirsty, hopeless.
I like Life, but I do not like this life. Because it is necessary to stay, because it is necessary to resist, I do.
But God, ô Allah, I am obediant but I am afraid, I cry.
I’m an used paper, a wet butterfly who dreams to fly away.