Dew drips from the green leaves. Fireflies, oleanders. With their selenite eyes on the starboard side, Dandelions don’t tell no lies
Beside me stood the blessed Cause Lingering and murmuring by my side, golden golden emeralds shine Dandelions don’t tell no lies
Fell on my brow; while the corundum air placed the things that remind you of water. And the green stars burn like haunted fires … for these virtues, dandelions, escaped….
You shall find your thin brown course That tree is on the side of the Slow The blood with the transparent water, Dandelions do not lie, but they do smile in their own pure air.
I am a person of Himalayan seclusion, I am Atalanta in vestments of Helen of Troy, for me there is no term (aphorism there is, maybe). Cosmopolitan is too modest word for one who wanders across epochs without the help of the time machine. Some people consider me weird, because usually this is so when they do not understand something or someone that do not represent their existence. I love cats, an animals in general, I like challenges, I am persistent, I am combative (sometimes I can exaggerate in that - in all) If I were stylistic figure my mortal name would be Hyperbole.
Read me. Know me. Conquer me :)
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Leila Samarrai 