مجلة فرسان الكلمة للشعر والأدب الدولية

THE TOUCH OF A DISTANCE My clairvoyant hands, as hot as a sorcerer's hands set in motion by thought touch the chosen thing, it is them that have encountered you. Seeing better than the eyes they impeccably guide me, Logos always appeals to me. I write down a word or two and the rainbow gives a flash fusing two violent waters aware of the might of the said. It shoots them through to the bottom integrated by the force of origins. Out of the overheated core sterling flows over  with a deep trail. I touch letters one by one, they spread energy with ease. Receiving it you light up –  you open all doors to me – a woman. And you do not know what breaks you: either the touch of fire or the might of the said that defeated you at once. Or the secret of the being from afar that flashes when fusing with you.