Two hells in the heart by Youssef RZOUGA (ink book reader TXT) 📕

A new map
For the world :
That we meet..
And change..
What in our souls,
And in the world.

Something..
Absent in this colour
So..
A woman is necessary
For this colour
To be blossomed..

Something
Absent in this world
So..words
Are necessary
To the world’s heart
To be changed..

The sun-as usual-
Gets up
And the rooster..
Only you
Inhabited with darknesses
When will you get up then ?

The wall that
We don’t destroy..
The others will destroy it..
And the train that
We miss
The others will get it on…

It’s the snail that
Beats the drums
And revives in the rocks..
The season of senses
And the spring of madness.

A face passes..
As if it’s mint’s plant
During my insomnia.
I say :
When did I meet it ?
When ?
And I see it.. till it disappears..

The wind plays..
Of me-out of the fences-..
And I’m the king..
Playing..
And bursting out laughing..

The momentl is a sword
Lover is seduced..
Only by words
Words are blood..
-Will the fountain burst forth ?

Oh ! Giraffe
Patience of water and fire is exhausted
And you’re far…
And I love you.
So blow the snow of distance..

You’re the exile..
So by which music
Should I penetrate your heart..
Oh ! Woman of the exile ?

I open the window
And immediately close it..
To see you by my side :
A painting picture
So I laugh untill…
Crying.

Keep on hiding here and there
I’ll ask herbs in the sea or in the language about you
I’ll ask sands and even algas about you
I know you’re coming-inevitably-in the wave of the dream
And electricity
Would you appear then ?

Between an earth
And a sky..
Her thirsty voice..
Is water.

You’re a woman without colour..
But when I see you..
I see behind
Words
And behind you
Million more
Women…

Red ants
Invade the forest.
Who’s knocking at the door ?..
.. The soul’s wind
Neighs..
Hurt stones…
Groan from fever ..

Inanimated moans
She’s the sea..
And the calm shore
She’s water..
And she’s fire…


Leaves of roses have rusted
My lips haven’t rusted yet :
I love you.
I disperse it in the desert..
And to the desert
You’re there :
A non-reaching extended hand..

I have nothing
To say..
Because which holds us..
Has become higher
Than words.

Blood in cloths of speech
Blood in the noise of the town,
In the movement
The waves of « I » flowed
Then the universe disappeared in
A fish.

Somewhere, there..
One summer
The sea resorted
To her eyes tent
The crab kept on
Dancing til..perishing..

It’s raining now..
So wait for me.
Tomorrow
Time blows in the ear.
And tomorrow.
Questions flourish.

High and far
We should travel.
Because remaining
In the same place
Is a slow suicide…

The one who’s terrified..
By seeing his face in mirrors,
Has seen - When being at the bottom of a well-
Faces of his..
Broken by mirrors

The one who missed saying :
Tomorrow we meet…
Missed …
-Running and crying-
The train

The woman is two women..
In the mirror :
The frst sees..
What the other doesn’t see…

It’s the ear
Which bows to the breeze
And doesn’t bow..
-Even howling from
Bombing..-
To the bomb.

His daily program :
To escape from his tomorrow..
Towards a woman..
Her only concern is
Her tomorrow..

You sing..
For whom ?..
Since the spring comes
Then leaves
Without being honoured
It’s wonderful things
By a woman
Who’s the origin of Existence

He bought some fish
And came back home.
The sea roared in its silence
His body shivered..
Then he saw the fish
Surrounding him
On all sides.

The painting’s been achieved
You’re the universe
And the great colour…
The painting’s been achieved
And you’re travelling..
When will you come back then ?..

Who am I exactly..
In your eyes ?
All the mirrors have broken
And now I want..
To know..
(How do you consider me ?)

He said to the friends :
Good bye..
He was so grieved
That he walked in the opposite
Direction
Till we met..
Then we talked

Her daily program :
To sit in..
The coffin of moments..
*Will he come ?..
And she stays like that..
Untill the flood
Engulfs her..


The plant left
No future saw it
It has been
So the dream has been
But the winter..
So the spring left.

How many corridors do we need
To run into history’s light ?..
How many aerostats do we need…
For Mars ?…

The worst of the most beautiul things is :
Seeing you..

The same train
We’ll get on towards.. the vaccum.
And we return from the same
Vaccum
With the train
To the vaccum.

By the same way
We come
To where we don’t meet.
By the same way
We go
To where we don’t meet.

Two hells in the heart :
You
And the winter.

Publication Date: 01-13-2010

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