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To Be Born

I wake up to the world. With the day. In a bluish dawn light from birth,with the breeze of the wind on my face.

I get up, in a gracious ceremony,slowly, like a blooming plant, I stretches me, to straighten me up and waves in the rhythm of the wind. I turn slowly and on delicately myself, I discover my body.
I hear my heartbeat.

I run my hand through my long hair fluttering in the breeze spring, blue clouds, a blue solar light circle turquoise and white which makes me believe in

I dance, light and sensual, with the different luminosities, in the bluish clouds and sphere of sunlight , my shadow appears, I hear my heartbeat with wind noise.

I plant the first seed. Me prostrate with graceful, fatal gestures,wise, as if I were following a ritual of fertility. I water the earth with two drops of my tears. I dance around.

One shape begins to sprout, at a time plant and human. It grows at the same rhythm that me who got up twirling.
Letters seem to hatch, the background of which is semi spherical. The sounds of the wind starting to blow harder.

One hand supporting my right breast, I’m standing in the wind where letters of ancient alphabets fly.
My vegetal hair.
Me, standing in front of a semicircular bluish background of a tree leaning in the wind. , I hold my breast n the hand, heartbeat … a voice in

I come from the land of light
And a God present somewhere, very close
On the conscious face of the waters,
In the laws of the plant world.

I continue to dance. My shadow takes shape human, male.
A conversion between this shape and the tree that is developing, my heartbeat is starting to to duplicate.
My shadow takes the form of a plant man.
IT revolves around me. Walks away. Come back.
I hear the sound of the wind, strong, mingling with my beats of heart .
A voice in Persian says:
Someone has come
Who extended my hand
Someone has come
In the morning light of religions
Someone has come
Weaving the grass of ancient verses
Like the days before Thought
She was ageless …

I dance, I take the fruit in my hand grenade offer him.
I hear my heart paired.
And always this voice in Persian:
I come from the land of light
And a God present somewhere, very close
On the conscious face of the waters,
In the laws of the plant world.

With the pomegranate in my hand I dance, him all blue joins me.
Loud revolving storm sounds, sealant We hug and make love at foot of the tree, our roots selmble take body in ourselves.

Our gasps, my sighs, mixed with your poetry:
Song traversed by wonderful shivers,custom song,virginal weaving, adornment,emerged from space, adornment, here she is standing like a cypress with fire buds, like a vase equal, and his fingers, his irreproachable fingers,his celestial gaze, luminous abyss but so close, so close, her eyes that burn like the midday hour a gusting wind breaks my dream, I am naked on the armchair of my studio in Paris barely covered by your orange shawl, this floating shawl that covered our bodies in passionate fusion … what you left me as a souvenir, next to me, flowers daffodils, an ashtray full of cigarettes crushed and my cup of coffee…. of drops of water that form on the window a fictitious drop reminiscent of semen. The luminous sphere in the background.

I start to look at my painting more recent “Garden of Eden”, and games lover of Adam and Eve, hands offer the pomegranate…
We are there on the heights
The expanses fade, the surfaces clear up …
And life clearer than that of the past nights….

The luminous sphere in the background.
A puddle of sperm fluid translucent.
Transfiguration of me.