He appears, as usual, faithful to the meeting of happiness.
His freshness is without equal, his soul full of silence, fervent and awakened.

His life is guided by an great treasure of infinite dreams, always loving the wind and the rain.
At dawn, with every rising sunbeam, he hides away the defeats at the edge of the shore of memories in waiting, before every journey, big bliss.
He is the sap of life, always there, continuously.
He merges with the breath, penetrates into bones and flesh, magnificent star of the nights and never lowers eyes.
So light the down of the swan, he lives, sometimes, in the bread of exile.

Silent, as the brightness, he dispels sadness of our hearts, sets up thoughts of our souls always ready of receiving our prayers, our offerings and feasts and moves with us up to the end of breath.
In every country, whether he is ours or not, near us, at a tiny and intimate distance he knows how to wait, he is invincible, always present on the horizon of soul and absence, between the lines of the silence, loved by Adonis, by the dove and by the solitary peoples.

Eternal messenger of the shattered fate, he grows with our dreams, brandishes the sky like streamer, promises seasons of jasmine, roses and lilac under a tender and brotherly sun, always ready to carry the sea of the memories with a rigour without defect, to walk on unexplored roads and find the road when you are lost.

He unites you with the strength during the weakness and gives a smile to your existence, makes surge waves of roses and pulls away from misleading time.

Give it the hand at night labyrinths to lead you to the road of your passions and decipher the pace in the face of time.

He is desperately in love with the life and it is his law, he is any age nor nationality.
He crossed the centuries of the sufferings, intact and magnificent to announce mornings of feasts on this earth eager for love and for sun to be finally able to between your tears and your eyelids to sign his eternal name: THE HOPE.

Imad SALEH