But my heart, my heart, from where 

And where do I start?

And how,

How should I begin?

This sad song 

 That I sing.

Should I speak of the eyes and what they hold?

Or the secrets lips dare not unfold?

Should I address the stories told?

Or the many left untold?

Should I of the wise men be?

Ask questions and leave in doubt?

Shake the fountain and let my secrets sprout?

Half the answer the question may be.

But not for me, 

Not for me.

I see the glass half empty.

Of a hundred, I see but fifty.

Of the rainbow, I see but black.

So why should I ask?

And why should I start to 

Reveal the truth of my heart?

My heart  . . . 

My heart that is my art.

Ayman Taieboune