I became a fabulous opera, I saw that all creatures are condemned to happiness. I have researched the magic shapes of happiness, no one escapes.

To be a great poet is to experience everything in my body, thus it is no longer enough for me to be one person. I decide to be everyone, I decide to be a genius. I decide to originate the future.

I’ve seen skies crack in thunder and gales I’ve heard myriads of unspoken tales I’ve scented orchids in withering bloom I’ve known what others merely assume

Hello am happy to be part of this great community

A November night wraps around abundant mind of a young poet On maple leaves scattered across pavements of brown-hued melancholy The wind gently brushes sensitive skin in a soft and measured rhythm A tender breeze waters thoughts wandering through veiledd wastelands Moonlight reveals a path - yet unknown and anew People, in a state of ennui*, hidden behind masks of emotion in the dark alleys of tainted streets. The city pulses with life yet remains dead at its core, painted in dim shades of its own emptiness. Laughter, dancing, revelry - all so theatrical, forced, hollow. *ennui (fr.) - boredom of living