Song Lyrics
No More Promises
🎵 No More Promises(Translated version)No more promises...Just hope you come back,And let the old days fade behind,Let Eid arrive with joy anew,And no more past upon your mind.Oh, tender heart,I’ve known a love so deep, so wide,No thought deservesTo waste our yearsOn tears we tried to hide.I see your eyes,They speak, they vow,Yet still, you drift away somehow.My soul is yours—It beats your name.Even in your coldest flame.So no more promises...Just hope you come back,And let the past dissolve in light,Let peace return,Let wrongs turn right,And may your heart come back tonight.
By Ali Sadeek Ahmedabout a year ago in Poets
The Liar’s Canvas
The Liar’s CanvasDon’t trust the liar’s tongue—it's dipped in honey, but burns like acid.He smiles with ease, speaks with grace,but every syllable is dressed in lace,a disguise of truth stitched with deception.He tells you:"I am the mirror you can trust."But his mirror bends the light,like carnival glass under a mocking sun.He walks with confidence,paints with words,spreads illusion like an artistwith a palette of shifting tones.His favorite brush?Your emotions.Your hope,your doubt,your thirst for something real.He dips it into your faithand draws a world too vivid to resist.He speaks of loveand draws a field of roses—but the thorns are hidden beneaththe soft strokes of red.He promises light,but hangs shadows in your room.He promises clarity,but fogs the windows of your soul.He is a painter of moments,a sculptor of thoughts,a master of timing—he waits till you blink,then swaps the truthwith its twin in disguise.And when he lies,he doesn’t just lie—he creates.A lie is not a weapon to him;it is a masterpiece.He doesn’t shout—he whispers.Whispers like a breeze,gentle, familiar, persuasive.He knows the rhythm of your heartbeat,and dances around itlike a thief in velvet shoes.But the sun—The sun always returns.It does not ask permission to rise.It spills across the canvas,and the colors melt.The truth comes not with fury,but with quiet persistence.Like morning light through broken blinds,it leaks into the roomwhere his illusion slept.Now the masterpiece unravels.The strokes smear.The red becomes rust,the blue turns bruised,and the soft shadows grow teeth.You stare at the paintingand wonderHow did you ever believeThat darkness was day?That poison was perfume?And still—the liar adjusts.He re-mixes the palette.Adds silver to the lie,calls it wisdom.Adds gold to betrayal,calls it experience.He repaints.He rebuilds.He survives.He thrives in your doubt,flourishes in the graybetween yes and no,right and wrong,love and control.His lies are not random.They are deliberate architecture.He builds rooms you think are safe,and locks you inwith invisible keys.And the world?The world often applauds.Because a beautiful lieis easier to live withthan an ugly truth.But listen—The sun still rises.It rises even over ruins.And when it does,Your eyes may sting,But you’ll finally seeWhat was painted?What was real?and who was holding the brush?
By Ali Sadeek Ahmedabout a year ago in Poets
