Talking To You

my night was very normal; I found nothing to do but to stay at my chambre, the wheather was very bad, and my parents left home to visit my sister in the South of the country. exhosted and consumed by the long hours of work, I tryed to sleep, But I had one of those nights where sleeping is yet to nock on my head, and am still trying...

Once upon a time,
--------------- I was lying on bed
An eye held open,
--------------- The other half-closed
my arms and legs are heavy
--------------- the light is softly on
winds started to blow
--------------- the old cracking drain
'sleeping' I want to go
--------------- but sleeping has missed my train
for long I kept still
--------------- till somthing made a sound


************** A sound that broke into the room and covered all the whispers of the winds, I merly can see through the shade of the light of candles That I use when ever the power in cut... somthing was moving... what would that little thing be??!! Is it a ....? but HOW...?

A rabbit sneaked-in
---------------And tried to make some fun
Started sniffing around,
---------------Jump, Gallop and run
Nice and pretty looking,
---------------Furry and fluffy like cotton
Coloured in blue and white,
---------------its head was totally bright

************** with a mixture of feelings that varied between the pleasure and worry, I tryed t figure out How...???

I wonder for a second,
---------------how did it get to here?!!
I turned towards the door
---------------that was closed and latched
The window wasn't an option;
---------------closed early that night
From top it can’t be coming,
---------------my ceiling is nicely made
“From under the bed it entered”
---------------I thought maybe it might

************** I always loved having a pet a home, and a rabbit is a pretty nice one. I felt in need to its presence in my room where I hardy allowed any person to enter.. I could never touch it nor even get to feed from my hand as cats do,it was keen to jump and hide, yet still it comes before me in the opposite corner of the room, I felt loving its presence ever more. time passed quickly and the rabbit is funnier day by day till another night... that very night...

on bed I was and said:
--------------- ‘it’s lovely and very pleasant’
It felt really at ease,
---------------- as if I weren’t present
I lifted a bit my head,
---------------- so I can see better
Stoned ‘n frozen It turned,
---------------- thrilled about the matter
Its eyes widely open,
---------------- Seductive with their glitter
I stretched long my hand
---------------- to catch from the under
Quickly and very sudden
---------------- Its teeth grew bigger
I couldn’t pull my hand
---------------- Without a bitten finger

‘I surely must be dreaming’
---------------- For that is what it seems
That bite wouldn’t hurt
---------------- at least if I was in dreams

the body grew larger
---------------- its head and ears are different
legs are higher and streight
---------------- the tail became thiker
the muzle forwardly pulled
---------------- the jaws turned canine
the little bunny is now
---------------- an ugly ferocious hyen(a)

May be next time...
If I can make it out of this plot...
I will hear from you If you had ever met such a rabbit

Another week passed with no regret to the chances I missed. Nothing new but another page turned over a pile of papers full of scratches of hundreds- or be it thousands- of undreamt dreams, of misplayed scenes, of scrambled thoughts and ideas and inquiries and inquisitions and questions and..... . Am loosing my nous with the ticking clock of my days.

It comes to my mind the old anecdote that fathers taught to their sons; of a man who dared the reason and chose his path, of a man who stretched his hands straight and flat to grab to his mouth a sip of THE fresh water from the pouring stream, falling from high; only few drops rested upon his dry hands and he is still trying to quench his growing thirst.

That man must be me with the stream of time. Those drops are my days I deliberately chose to live conscious but half observant to the next deep and prolonged nap.
Pity on a man like myself, Alive but not living, awake yet still dreaming, waving hard with my feathered wings, trying to fly and hover while my feet glued with the fear to the cliffs of hesitation. I feel like Alice in the Wanders’ Land.... What Alice??? What magic land???.... Its me... And only the little swaggering arrogant me. A man with a name ...or... a man within a name...

No, am not leaving here before telling you why I wrote these blurring and shadowed lines... a man like me is uncovering his facet that for long was hidden through the cracks like an old oak.
Writing made me recover of a malicious nightmare, where I founded to myself an ivory-tour called selfishness, built on the hills of arrogance, by the cliffs of incertitude, under the gray-sky of fear, shaded by the thorns of anxiety and solitude. I made it high above any men’s height, and I enclosed myself in it far of any sight reach; there I waited for long till... till you came... on time... not late... nor early you were... just on time.... you came to visit someone who luckily was me, yes, its you who delivered me from the wrong Ideas that unlikely any man can carry for long and long... and long. To my friends I owe what I am today.

I always found poetry fascinating and expressive; it makes me very happy and delighted when ever I read some verses. I feel sorry not to be able to sound my thoughts the way the poets do, maybe I didn’t try hard enough, or maybe I am simply not made for that.
The poem writers model My own ideas and sensations in their own words in a magic way, how does that happen? Is it telepathy? psychology? Well ... I would rather say “Its HUMAN”.
My teachers taught me for long that since the dawn of ages, Man was always in need to express his feelings and needs and to understand his group, so he developed the LANGUAGE, a set of codes and rules that enables him to interact with his followers, I believe that the story never ended just there, Man also was always of an extraordinary complex simplicity, too demanding, too Human ,He needed to give life to his words, make them loaded with emotions, and here came poetry, an art that makes you feel the words before understanding them.
Now I know,
I know what poem is ...........
What language is ..........
What man is...........
Simply, it's Human.
I am a believer.

Linguists say: “language is a purely human phenomenon”. I would say: "poem is all that makes language human"

Well, my very deep and hidden secret is that I dislike deep and well hidden secrets. what a secret is for when you want to love people around you and want to be loved by them, what worthy would it be for me to keep things or thoughts for a while then make them public as soon as I they become a heavy-load. Or better asking... What are the things that you will always keep for yourself and only you can know them?.
What are "secrets" for you????

It had become a habit with me to take a break while surfing on the endless and countless web sites, even a short break would count, during which I tend to evaluate the fruits I might have picked. This may look like me being a bee that flies over gardens selecting the best of the best flowers it can land on.... but it does not look like you intend: Sometimes I spend long time in front of the dazzling screen of my computer, clicking around and about with no clear destination, I often get bored and quit or just keep clicking until ... I don’t no.
Yesterday was not a very usual day,... I found a quiet interesting web site named: wwww.newscientist.com
I spent about 110 minutes reading some articles about different topics: arts, history, literature, technology... and much more other fields that one would like to expand his knowledge about. It may be the style of the writers / editors / reporters or what ever they were, there style, I said, which caught me logged on and buzzed the few neurons –I believe I still have-Idle and hibernated.
I remember my feelings stirred by the simple but deep short story titled (the white road) about a polar journey with the she writer, details and imaging was fabulous to me, I quote: “I don't know how long I stand there. Slowly, slowly, someone is dropping a cloth over me and this mist comes down in front of my eyes.”
There was another scientific article saying that instant messaging on chat is more expressive to the feelings one tries to pass to his friend on the other end of the link, the fact that keeps chat rooms and E-social lounges crowded as ever.
It seems almost true with me regarding my petite elfin experience on the web. I recall that during the course of anthropology on the GVC program am taking, my fellow mates considered text messaging more lucid and eloquent than the face-to-face video conferencing (they believe so).
In essence, I strongly advise myself through you to get rid of all appalling and inexcusable habits that the clicking mouse keeps teaching us, and I ought to meet you every day telling stories about new-found sites of the calibre of Newscientist.com