Quantum pen

A flock of storks spread their wings, you'd think it's crossbows flying through the sky.

Even perched above the mosque, they're still strangers to the sweetness of a genuine smile.

At twenty-three, it wasn't wine that spilled—it was a tyrant's blood; his marriage dreams meant nothing.

Too bad... the torment of Hell won't spare you; titles won't save you, nor Ouija spirits.

When I switch off the TV, I need eyedrops after all the stupidity they broadcast.

He may look handsome, but in truth he's pierced through like Minato struck by a shuriken.

If desire had stayed locked inside a fridge, it would've lost all value.

What's hidden inside—only its owner knows; outside, a man stands praying, forgetting even the iqama.

There's a world of difference between showing off on a prayer rug and showing off on a horse.

Your enemy isn't always your friend; once your secret is leaked, it'll never stop being retold.

Keep your appointment with destiny—the only key that frees you; life grants no exemptions from hardship.

Take experience: it doubles your ego the way flesh melted off the workers beneath the Chernobyl effect.

My verses are an electric current—once they start, they have no choice but to reach the generator.

Not like the stage-front poser with waves crashing at his door, only to be stopped by the bouncer.