I shall tell you

Home is not
where you keep
your blurry pictures.

Home is where,
in the sharp winter,
you find a soft summer.

Thilleli G.



If you forget

Broken night
And falling stars
Uncertain candle light
Cold coffee aside
oil leaking
Brushes cursing
Flaws blown by the wind
And after years
It is ready
It is here
You are not to be
Not to be owned
By amateurs
You should just be admired
Cause you are the best paint
God ever made.

Thilleli G.

What if

What if
you fell in love,
and what if
this love hurt you,
and what if
in your wound
you found the light
and went into the wood,
and under the night sky,
hearing the rhapsody about you,
you fell in love with yourself,
for you are beautiful,
for you are, true.

[ To : K ]

Thilleli G.

Atlas of God

Bought this map from Ikea
and hung it on the wall
where is the God they are talking about ?
The map said :
” The flowers under the ruins of the citadel
and the soft rain of May
Be the graveyard of your beliefs
the cradle of the truth
go out
you’ll find God” .

Thilleli G.


Je ne porte pas de montre.
Ces scènes répétitives n’ont plus besoin de nombres.
Que la marée descende ou que la marée monte,
je retrouve a la fin le même compte.
Entre l’hypocrisie du monde et cette guerre immonde,
mes enfants meurent dans l’ombre.
Sont bien jolies les colombes,
mais mes jardins luxuriants sont devenus tombes,
c’est mon innocence qu’on incombe.
Je fais le tour des fréquences, des ondes,
n’avez vous toujours pas vu mes décombres?
Entre les méandres d’octobre et de novembre,
me laisseriez vous encore dans ce chaos sombre ?

Thilleli G.

Last Tango in Paris

Young and fool,
I hated you for what you did do,
I hated you for what you didn’t do,
no real ground for that,
I mean,
we all have a piano in the living room,
with nobody playing.
Now I’m old like an eastern wine,
and I don’t have time,
now i wish people asked me about you,
so I’d tell them how the slave became king.
would you share my last tango in Paris?
would you help me be the dust
on the land of my daughters,
and their daughters,
because you are the past
and the future.
You are everywhere.

Thilleli G.

March, 8.

March, 8,
I woke up and puked
on the soil,
it drew my continent,
a closer look and I could see,
women raped,
women assassinated,
women abused,
women humiliated,
women discriminated,
women used,
women exposed,
women decorated…
I wept and threw water,
till everything got clean again,
maybe that’s what we should do,
Drink from the same devil’s cup,
allow ourselves to cry together,
once drunk enough,
break the chains,
you know what happens when a star comes to life,
we will have gold to pluck.

Thilleli G.


Let’s go for a walk
down Hugo street?
I felt miserable.
I am the stranger
that Albert talks about.
I rebel in Berber,
I swear in Arabic,
and I lie in french,
I am the world,
and who wants to see
this ugly world
on their doorway ?
I want to go home.
I want to take
my loaf of bread,
flavoured with my tears,
fight my ghost in
narrow streets,
dream in my mom’s arms,
and get to my roof
where I find God
in the morning
and my evil
in the afternoon.
I’m an animal,
wild, free,
and I want my territory.

Thilleli G.

Inspired by : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=54fea7wuV6s