The sun stealthily creeps-up from behind the mountains to the right.

I wake-up when it’s pitch-black.

It’s blacker than black, a carbon sort of black.

A black alleviated here and there by faded lemony electric lights.

I wake-up when it’s pitch black,

My senses tempered by the absence of light,

My eyes conjecturing the contours of my surroundings.

There is something comforting by this void,

Something interiorized that merges with the outside

And patiently waits.

As time moves slowly, the blackness lingers,

Whispering to the endless shades of shadows, 

Tall tales’ dancing in the corners of my eyes.

I see. ll of a sudden, I raise my head and I see… a blue.

It’s a dark almost black blue, but it stands true nonetheless in its blueness,

all-encompassing and conquering valiantly the darkest shades of dusk.

The blue rapidly turns into blues,

United, they creep over the land

Spread towards the sky and

The sparkle of a star slowly shimmers out.


Bikfaya – September 4th 2019

Spiralling City – Oil on canvas, 45,7x61cm, 2017