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Galerie Hanbell

Poèmes d'un journal secret Vo. 1

Auteur: ChiHeb

Basé à Constantine, Algérie

Instagram: @cosmic_city_

Ce sont des poèmes qui ont été cachés à la vue pendant une longue période de temps dans l'obscurité des pages fermées; à l'arrière d'un sac pour que personne ne puisse les lire. Ils sont écrits avec des sentiments honnêtes et proviennent d'expériences personnelles authentiques.

Image by Lukas Meier

"Sweet Angel" 

From heaven
An angel once fell
Not the one that became,
The devil
But the one who conquered
My heart, and then
Concord with it
From heaven
To the center of my heart
It took one picture
One glance, and some sweet words
The way those eyes sparked
So real; so surreal
Dreamlike and honest
They held secrets
And silver pain
They held my hands
Clung to my ankles
Stopped me from flying
For a moment, and then
Flew with me
On summer’s thin clouds
We floated
On our dreams
We crossed the sea
On a foreign land
We landed
Lived and prospered
And when our dreams
Ran out of magical dust
And our eyes stared tired
To our beds we gave up
On each other’s chests
Our heads rested
And our hearts

From miles away
Sang and wept
In my sleep
The angel came
On my forehead
The angel
Placed a kiss
In my mind
A flower bloomed
On my hand
The angel
Wrote a spell
On my soul
A wound was healed
Around my neck
The angel
Hang a string of gold
In my heart
Peace and blood
And I,
Fell asleep.

Man overlooking water


Born was he
To dwell on misery
To magnify the little
And himself to belittle
To make those in his heart
The priority, and his heart
He gave not much opportunity
To dream; to melt
To weep in despair
Sometimes to accuse the almighty
Of not being fair
Had he had the world
A small part of it
To the troubled head
He would have offered it
But he has only his love
And a bunch of dreams
And the troubled head is,
Now more troubled than ever
Hamlet in his indecisiveness
Torn apart and tortured
By the ghosts he sees.
Told was he

Love is not enough
And what you expect
Is not always what,
You would see
Help is offered to those,
Who ask for it
And he has been offering,
Embraces, to a hand
That refuses to hold his
Born was he
To a purpose untold
To cast change
To be changed
Happiness unaccomplished
Spring refusing to stay
Poetry does not describe
What he really feels
In a parallel dimension
He lit a cigarette
And by the pool
Tears ruined the eyeliner
Of the masks he wears
Dancing in his imagination
Moves he wouldn’t dare,
To perform in reality
High he jumps
High he dreams
High hope
And low screams.

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