People build a lot of rooms, nowadays a lot of money goes into accomadation that lasts for families, and relatives. People want something that is easy, affordable, economic and in the city so as to to live a life .... where they built a house that works
For me.... I love Khartoum not only because it is my home town, but because there is magic to its components... or Life I have yet to understand...
With my grandmother out in the house yard, enveloped by open air and her stories of princes and princessess, I counted the stars, lost count at 1353 and had to start all over again because I followed a glittering plane until it dissappeared into the fading darkness out of the scope of my tired eyes to follow.... and her sweet voice entangled me into a beautiful escapade until morning. I remember the wind that blew those memories into me still today
Romance under a Khartoum navy sky full of complicated stories, full of tales and glories of a million untold secrets and fairytales in the dusken reality of broken city lights that extends all the way through african streets and people with closed doors and empty gardens .... making up a forgottten yard in in the delve of my heartbreak.
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He looks at me from beyond the stars, twinkling twilight of our garden, its perimeter the locket of escapades into each others hearts, romance of dew particles flowering the midnight sun. In the silence of neon lights.... in the distance... Flies fly in a world of existence I only hear... maybe like New York...maybe like here... in this area surrendering to short ropes of lacking water and flickering astonishment of his imagination through me. The lightened dark holds my eyes in questions I yearn him to ask me... I beg that he hears me... for I am scared.... Carrying a teapot and respect but I drink a lot of steaming painful seconds that go by.... All I want for him is to tell me................................
The Moon collects shatterings of me and reflects the shine of a waiting hour into morning... it may be 3 AM, 4 AM...but it is the middle of so many tonights where I fight to stay strong
Jasmines.... I love Jasmines... Smelling of Jasmines Pearls that died of good fate, her face remains broken with time, broken by circumstance, I know this is just borrowed luck of beauty, Yes, .............
For me.... I love Khartoum not only because it is my home town, but because there is magic to its components... or Life I have yet to understand...
With my grandmother out in the house yard, enveloped by open air and her stories of princes and princessess, I counted the stars, lost count at 1353 and had to start all over again because I followed a glittering plane until it dissappeared into the fading darkness out of the scope of my tired eyes to follow.... and her sweet voice entangled me into a beautiful escapade until morning. I remember the wind that blew those memories into me still today
Romance under a Khartoum navy sky full of complicated stories, full of tales and glories of a million untold secrets and fairytales in the dusken reality of broken city lights that extends all the way through african streets and people with closed doors and empty gardens .... making up a forgottten yard in in the delve of my heartbreak.
__________________________________________________________________
He looks at me from beyond the stars, twinkling twilight of our garden, its perimeter the locket of escapades into each others hearts, romance of dew particles flowering the midnight sun. In the silence of neon lights.... in the distance... Flies fly in a world of existence I only hear... maybe like New York...maybe like here... in this area surrendering to short ropes of lacking water and flickering astonishment of his imagination through me. The lightened dark holds my eyes in questions I yearn him to ask me... I beg that he hears me... for I am scared.... Carrying a teapot and respect but I drink a lot of steaming painful seconds that go by.... All I want for him is to tell me................................
The Moon collects shatterings of me and reflects the shine of a waiting hour into morning... it may be 3 AM, 4 AM...but it is the middle of so many tonights where I fight to stay strong
Jasmines.... I love Jasmines... Smelling of Jasmines Pearls that died of good fate, her face remains broken with time, broken by circumstance, I know this is just borrowed luck of beauty, Yes, .............
Khartoum Plants, Insects and fantasised life should grow in my garden...and he waits for me, while I bring him some romantic mint tea
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