It becomes urgent for the soul to escape.

You leave it to prosper in the clammy palms of destiny. The destiny that is spoon fed to you as a child.

It becomes urgent for the soul to escape.

You roll it up in silk leaves and sniff, in hope for happiness.

It becomes urgent for the soul to escape

from your blindness.


(Thierry Le Gous, Soul Photography)

The soul worships your existence. It hopes and dreams that you will touch it. It cannot be seen. It lives inside of you, waiting to be understood. You spend hours worshiping the beauty of the physical. You spend hours painting your face, in hope you will uphold some source of beauty.

And the beauty of the mind is forgotten.

There is no mind when the only thing you read is the advert on the billboard or your pay check. How can you expect successes in life when you do nothing to feed your soul?

And the only thing on your mind is…


Signed Arouge





You are dying, I am living.

I am taking, you are giving

the bright light.

Sunny days that raced ahead,

Are now darkening and dead.

And that alleyway where we always met,

Now is exiled and a threat.

You are dying, I am living.

You are drowning, I am slipping

Into the same sea.

Signed Arouge

Who Says Words With My Mouth? 

Where do I come from? Where does home begin and end?

I don’t belong. My soul calls for another home.

My soul longs.

I don’t belong here.

Signed Arouge