What if the sky is made
of trees, the sun of white silk...

I repeat wild songs to
link each railway...

I couldn't see the beauty
in our worn out portrait...

Against the force of the current,
Happiness I seek...

I stem from roots where lands
never kiss the purity of rain drops...

Through my unaligned loneliness tonight
a liquefied falling moon will fill up my...

I looked for it
behind the curtain...

I deport time over again,
as I journey with the ticks...

The space you left kills.
The sound of wind...

Behind the outworn branches, a white stream...
By: Rania Moallem...

In a bitter eeriness I lonely wander
over sharp thorns, I no longer ponder...

Perhaps we haven't reached the end of the world...
We are no longer sensitive toward blood, we infact...