“There is a big difference between inspired from artists’ other works and copying from. A true artist is honest with himself and his art, he has no problem mentioning from where he got the inspiration from, while dishonest artists, they do things and pass it as (if) its their original idea. These artists are unethical and unprofessional.

There is a big difference between creative inspiration (while mentioning the source) and imitation (while saying its your invention).”



by Wissam Shawkat, 2015 November 29. www.wissamshawkat.com


The Pen Whispers


Confess… Confess all that you have All the truths in your heart Release them all and let your heart be free Let your heart be broken into pieces by all those truths Let your heart be shattered into pieces into pieces And let those pieces float in whichever way they choose to be Feel… Feel the […]

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The Pen Whispers


ticklish ideas fade into boredom smiles and laughters are dances of grey and black gifts and joy are mere dusts and aimless particles then frustrations bloom into magical colours anger and tears becomes unforgettable sparkles scars and pain are marks of cosmic excitement   and you calculate all the troubles that you have tracing blames […]

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Gallantly they are,
Morph into their pride;
The leap keep them spinning,
In their own dilated pupils;
Walking through their own endless stairs,
Along their own walls they have build;
To see themselves,
The Mirror of God.

The face to face the face,
The forms to form the forms,
Expanded and warped and distorted;
Within those reflections they see not,
Where they desire to see the others,
As they wish to see the world of fools.

But a little they think not,
And a little they realise not;
They see to see what they wish to see,
Through the pupils of the fools.




Pity them for what they want,
Pity them for what they know not,
Pity earth for all they want.
The bleeding heat is tearing the sun apart,
While the moon slowly dissolves in the wrinkles of the clouds;
And the earth has been deeply coated with their toxicated desires,
Oh then nature still give grace.
Hidden in their calamities of intelligence,
But yet they think not,
But yet they knew not,
And they crawl quicker than the hurricane.
I see them still racing in the rain.