Human Flowers

When nights had gone darker
I had never felt afraid
To my bed I went straight
Not to sleep or get some rest
It was just to be able to sink
In profound slumber and dreams
Where I could weave fanciful stories
And make hypotheses and antitheses
In order to flee my fake existence
Then I grew up to realize that
Dreamers in this world are the flowers
Blooming over a volcanic land
They are like the gentle breeze
Refreshing a hot day in summer
Amidst wars and turmoils depression
Their dreams sparkle as stars over a wasteland
They nourish a desperate perception
Of the human soul in isolation

 

 

Trying to prove its signification
And fit in a world of lust and passion
Dreamers are gifted with that fascination
Able to harmonize severed parts
In the sweetest reconciliation,
A dream waiting for realization.

Houda Boukassoula

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