Hadi Atallah

Accidents could happen, and a grain of dust would unfold to irritate the consciousness. Slowly the prophets force it loose when the world held it tightly against Her breast. And a maybe deed would break warm and clear where men could see dream forms. The way of alchemy seems to travel faster than gossip and ladies calling over their brush fences. Remembering kindness and beauty and looking past aged patients and past masters where every man would suddenly be related to a state of trance. Marriage is a superior talent us species have been granted. And the world herself saw the moment when this reason had left us. This enchantment had gone out of her head now, and the Hellish music of the enemy sounded, but it is light and weak. Blind eyes and crumpling back, servants following with unlit lanterns making little caressing gestures and little comments on the cruelty should give her aid when they could and life when they could not. 

…Lanterns do light the ground and legs of men.

I have placed a flower in a vase on my desk, a single crimson rose, and now the vase sits before a tombstone. People wink into sight and quickly slip out of sight like playful fingers and a coin. “I am sorry, my loves,” I say. And my shoulders rise a little to convey that these mistakes were no fault of mine. Would this statement be a great epitaph for my past relationships?

…He made it sound like a benediction.

From now on She would watch us very closely to see whether ego turned our heads. But I myself said it as well as for my friend, for my mind was hard and suspicious and I was remembering this white powder. But She was attracted, and Sophia could not take Her eyes from my bag. The soft sweep of the little dusts on the shore of metaphysical trance; And then darkness spread over Her page, and with the darkness came the music of Her births.

…And only the good remain with steady unbroken flow.

Reality is a series of change, gratitude and lessons.  

But what are dreams? They may be nothing at first like mice creeping in the night while the nighthawks hunt them as soon as you draw your first conscious breath in the morning.  

Then they become bitter friends.  

You stand in the midst of your dream and gaze at your acquaintances that have drifted off a decade ago as they make sad comments at a time of joy.  

Finally, dreams become a sleeping mat where you search for an answer, a true answer, feeling the shell of hardness melting away.  

Your eyes and voice become soft, and warmth and a brewing love soon grow in you.  

Little waves beat with an increased tempo and the beauty of pearls wink in the light and soon enough dreams become reality. 

When the doctor had gone

They dreamed that the wolf could read

Then warmth came over them and us

As quickly as the natural instincts for war had

They dreamed that the wolf could read

Little waves beat in her heart with tempo

As quickly as the natural instincts for war had

Then love could finally be heard of

Little waves beat in her heart with tempo

And his age was considered in the picture

Then love could finally be heard of

When the doctor had gone