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Updated: May 27, 2026 at 10:29 AM

Thoughts Hub

Blog of poetic thoughts, worth contemplation. • Notes from the Cloud: amzn.to/3pgpOcD • To Drown in the Height: amzn.to/3THLexg Author: @Hubeyb_Mohammed Lectures: @isolee

@Thoughts_hub offers specialized information about thoughts and notes for subscribers interested in Spirituality

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May 14, 2026, 06:54 PM

The sound of growing grass woke me up. For the sake of vigilance, it is impossible to sleep early. When I am deaf, the dream kidnaps me. I reached the water following the mirage without feeling thirsty.

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May 14, 2026, 06:54 PM

As if you love and are ashamed to say, or hate and are afraid to say; Like you're afraid. Or that what frightens you remains inside you, grows, becomes a mountain and you are too weak to bear it and too weak to say, that now you are like a man who carries a mountain inside and cannot move. He cannot raise an eye or a hand.

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May 14, 2026, 06:54 PM

I try to go out on my own, and every time the only thing clinging to my coat pockets is the doorknob.

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May 14, 2026, 06:54 PM

On my back, I carry, like a camel, a heap of wishes, whose return has not grown, or perhaps, like the fruit of a rotten cactus thorns that has not withered. I have no field to plant what I have in my heart of the corpses of naked words. Signs of vigilance fail me.. when I am fascinated by the madness of a cold night with its ghosts. And from my deserted balcony, I look at me without a face that knows me.

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May 14, 2026, 06:54 PM

Every hand, every hand that hears in its palm, your eyes fall into mine. Every alabaster, every alabaster echoes my prayer to you.

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May 14, 2026, 06:54 PM

I did not fear, while you were living in my bowels, that every remote vinegar would become away from me, for people are two, one whom I adore and the other whom I did not count among the living.

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May 14, 2026, 06:54 PM

Adam, you are me and my blood runs in your wrists and in your weeds I let out my verbal serpent. To liberate or suffocate the sleeping firebird in a poem in which the world and the past boil.

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May 14, 2026, 06:54 PM

I'm looking for a safe place for this confetti, a place that keeps the fractures of my soul for me.

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May 14, 2026, 06:54 PM

It is another sleepless night, a battlefield that has become familiar, and where the desire for victory is no more and no less burning than the desire for defeat.

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May 14, 2026, 06:54 PM

We, the defenseless villagers, when we find no room for the shepherds, look at the flute as a memory of the cane.

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