That window is wide-armed capturing my dark brown, possible black-coloured eyes. I checked my neighbourhood where there is nothing but wind. As if the wind is the new form of humans marching with dignity. A dignity dress similar to that we have sewed ourselves. It is only that the wind has real power, and it could easily destroy all advances we have been introduced to. Humans vanished from the streets as if they never existed, and as if their screams are but mere nightmares I had because of slumbering after a heavy Moroccan meal. It is in certain moments like those we start to realize that we have no power over that nature we have been destroying and fakely defeating, us, God-like creator creatures, with a cleverness that is unearthly-put. A cleverness that brought nothing but our end. We, jailed in our huts, see now that we are but mere objects of unpredictable guests. After all, I ask one question: Did life halt? It halted not, and birds continue to fly, cats continue to meow, and the black widow continues to eat her partner in meeting. See! Our absence did a lot of harm only, to ourselves, our majesty rounded-nose creatures with two holes, to have some air locked into our feeble lungs. Of course, we want to continue breathing and devastating the donor of our existence’s properties. But our will is not always what to happen. We are not always obeyed. Nature’s free and human-free. But I looked once again by my window and noticed that the street modern’s torches are on. They are enlightening the paths of ghosts. And we, emprisoned in modern huts, watch these lights and ghosts. I know, we only see the light, but the ghosts are not only our religion-based unwelcomed demons. You know there are small insects. Smaller than the ones you kill with your rotten nasty shoe bottom. Does it matter? They are mere instincts and, we- our majesty- the absolute holders and outrageous fortunes owners on earth. We will continue. Do not deliberate. Or if it makes you feel vigorous, do! And speak your power in eloquent sentences respecting the comma, the full stop, and the wholly systematic robotic language as our minds. For all what we do is words-wording. We only know words. But beneath the ocean exists life, and beneath words exists humanity. Wait! not your daily googled-definition of humanity. On the surface of the sea, we extend our arms thinking the latter is our diamantine throne. But the ocean’s a humble queen with its reign waves with the moon’s beautiful collar, swinging and “nirvanating“ our fiction movie entitled: The Naked Lady’s Fashion House Dream.