The Ballads of Gravity

I witnessed the jasmines of spring wither into ashes, their once sweet perfume transformed into the stench of decay and clotted blood. The highlands and meadows exhaled smoke, becoming solemn memorials. I observed as they set sail for the shores of Damascus, into an uncertain tomorrow, only to drown in the salty waters of their dreams, memories, agonies, and hope. Houses, once temples of happiness and love, crumbled into piles of bricks, and the youth perished in vain, leaving grieving parents to bury their own offspring. What agony could be more profound than burying a child while still alive? In the enchantment of a past glory, time alone promises healing. Aleppo and Damascus, I weep for you. Once, I dreamt of you through the tales of great legends and Sufis. Aleppo, may your fields spring forth, and may the olives blossom anew. May the wind sweep away the echoes of agony and sorrow. Your tears shall purify the generations to come, and the moans shall resound like thunder. Your chi

Beneath the water's surface lies a profound mystery—a narrative concealed from the awareness of men, embodying archetypes that resonate with the human mind.  Once, like Narcissus, I would sit upon its shores, contemplating the limits of human potential and the intricacies of our origins. Each bow revealed a reflection transforming into butterflies upon the water. In the realms beyond human comprehension, where the chaos of origin defies understanding, butterflies in the water perform a dance, heralding the genesis of life and its journey from there to mine. Life, omnipresent and diverse, adapts and persists. It is said that even a butterfly's flap can birth a storm, and tears can unleash torrents. Ideas burgeon into change, thoughts manifest into reality.  Rage echoes within me—I am the wind, elusive and untraceable. I shall blow, summoning butterflies from the altar of her liquid realm. The friction of wind propels the momentum of water. The untamed spirit beneath the water wi