“In your light, I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.”

― Rumi

I learned to speak and use words, but no one taught me how to feel them. There was so much passion and so much hate in phrases. I threw them way too easily and could destroy like fire. I sharpened my tongue but sealed it with soft kisses. I read through the lines but I couldn’t see what was right in front of me, the pain and the regrets written on wrinkled skin. I got inspired by my beloved ones, and no one knew who made me stay till midnight to put the rows of words on paper. Everything sounded passionate and that was what the readers needed. I didn’t share my soul’s terms, because there was no option, to share in words what I could only feel it. I created music and poetry to be closer to that language, but nothing could describe the way lovers looked at each other when they couldn’t be together. There was no word for such emotions. I read in my eyes, what I could not find in books and could not listen to in any song. The sadness and the love were shining in the light of the moon, and I was left speechless in front of love, without words to start or finish.

“Raise your words, not voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.”

― Rumi

I shared moments in time and I created space to keep my memories, but my soul lived timelessly and didn’t need a home, because we were at home with one another. I learned to lead or follow, but so less I found myself learning how to be friends and appreciate others’ lives walking beside me. I was driven by my ego, from pride or maybe from the unknown, and I was looking to keep the rhythm and frequency with each other. I didn’t follow rules, and I floated above lust and strong desires. I listened to my soul that spoke and saw each other, I was seen from the unseen and I hide my passions that kept the balance and gave the tone of life. When one was the water and the other was the flower, what could be named, the loving or the poisoning relationship?

“Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend, and together we will walk in the ways of HaShem”


I was not the winner and I did not ask the price, the treasure stayed in my heart, not in the vault. When did I not look to gain, I wasn’t afraid to lose it all. I thought love was everything, and even though it did not come with an interest, what I lost was more than I could have. Love was like a smartphone from my days, which gave me everything I needed to have a comfortable life, and only required to be charged. First I had to set up the language that spoke my feelings, then I added features. Everything I lived was added and stored to the story feed, just an instant to mark the moment and help me recollect the memories. Unfortunately, when a new version came or the device got damaged I had to reset all settings and start everything all over. The data was lost, all the moments, and what remained was only what I could remember. Someone or something else in control of my life left me empty and depleted. I had to set my heart free, and I enjoyed the moments of the present. I left like a bullet from the trigger and nothing could stop me. The moments lived alone were longer but I built with them for a better future. I wasn’t running from my feeling anymore, just kept rising up from the ashes. Anytime my life went down, I reset all settings and started all over because what couldn’t kill me, only made me stronger.

“Take someone who doesn’t keep score, who’s not looking to be richer, or afraid of losing, who has not the slightest interest even in his own personality: he’s free.”

― Rumi 

I was the poetry from lovers’ nights that kept a balanced rhythm. I was the fragrance of morning flowers, I was what only the sky could sense, and I was all that I could ask for. I learned to live with one another, planted the first seed in fertile dirt with bare hands, and continued filling up with love and passion, the pot of life. I made clay, with water and with soil, I spun the wheel of fortune and I create what only fire could give the final product. A clay pot that held the water to help the plants to grow and the feelings to never dry. A rose garden with an arch that kept shadow for my body, that didn’t know any better than loving every piece of me. I built what no winds or rains could ever tear off, I made a solid foundation from my dreams, hope, and honesty. I didn’t hold in chains what it was not meant to be, I built a structure that seemed too weak only for those who didn’t see what was truly holding it together. I didn’t construct walls around for neighbors, because I lived in peace with myself, and what was shown was inspiration and hope for those who failed in their longings and gave up on their dreams. I assembled the roof for colder nights, but with the crystal glass to be able to watch the fallen stars every night. I didn’t know any other person who could have done a better choice when everyone left me behind for all the ruins that I’ve been.

“A lover asked his beloved:
Do you love yourself more than you love me?
Beloved replied: I have died to myself and I live for you
I’ve disappeared from myself and my attributes
I am present only for you
I’ve forgotten all my learnings
But from knowing you I’ve become a scholar
I’ve lost all my strength, but from your power I am able
I love myself…I love you
I love you…I love myself”

– Deepak Chopra, Desire (RUMI poem)


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