Continuous

By Shaheen Asbagh

Good and bad, this small western town is away from the realities that, today; it occupies the communities of our beautiful nation. So much is true, that is, the people of Continuous still struggle while they live side by side. The days begin and end, dawn to dusk as questions about right and wrong linger upon the whitewashed walls of court and church.

Freedom and peace are eternal yet breathtaking. Continuous strives to be like othersa town with a flag that stands to spread liberty and treats all equal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546208785

Shaheen Asbagh

Among the active cells of a generation that is yet to be closely scrutinized for its enrichment of arts and culture, he now holds a title in verse and prose with many works in the market, each worth a praise as an addition to the growing power of western literature. Shaheen now lives in San Francisco.

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Continuous

Shaheen Asbagh

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© 2017 Shaheen Asbagh. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/13/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5462-0879-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-0878-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

. … . . And by putting a name and a time, it is a righteous act of bondage, which ties us together in sickness or health; by coloring this written paper with my name and acknowledging the time in which this commitment takes place, I am, hereby, responsible for all the requirements aforementioned on this piece of paper explaining that once the name, date, and signature is placed on this will it will be my solemn duty to pass all property itemized.

Pedro Barreros Ortega

Three years ago

Carrying the vibes of the west wind and he never stands by such solemn items of the numbered dignitaries that plan them in those forward and zealous efforts of techniques and politick. Of whom, it is heard the ballads and rhapsodic changes in time as now it is dusk, all left in exhaustion or yet it is autumn too. An accumulative appetite of less than negative ten could not buy anything but torment and fear where the season of skills downplays the neighborhood with the least fashionable path to the compromise of the participant elements. Never a good moment but the moment when hands join and voice picks up the steps of the highest level in precautionary test of minds letting egos be bygones.

It is liquid. And it is good people. They are running away and coming near to the utmost boundaries of disillusion and that torture now a lapse of losing one’s identity to the devil. Finder’s gold is only half of the tale which keeps them away and far from the unseen and the multitude of hints sporadically define the vulgar item which is normally seen as chaos. A basket of real ideas never was handy although the well-wisher’s fable much less buries any pride in the depths of the shadowland. There are many ways around arresting a criminal for the benefit of the doubt. Among those let us assume a vehement pattern of resilience and keep up with the results for every token of this mysterious season until the justice was done.

Fits of wood and cherry grass covered in paper scented the space unknowingly morbid and flawlessly came to an unending beat that matched the heat with a hint of inquiry. There in the shadow a few gossip and live their horrid life and news are passed around. On a piece of land-evidence-there are sheer numbers of skirmishes which, per say, the so-called judge, the creator, knows about and has dipped his just hands and toes in the guilt that later colors the curtain when it goes up to commence the long awaited act-the last act-in which a lover does not recognize her lover. As cynicism and secrecy was eating up all in presence. Those days are either buried or given a way to look us up and mock what has ever been found by the executioners of time and money. Unless the dawn defines the day and noon we would strive to take down the darkest moments and then presume what came must go. Ever so vividly, the blossoms, the memories, the balloons, and the candy still rebel in the fields.

Pondering and floating in lost moments solely to relieve pain sustain the least felt motives for submission and even better possession; possession of a soul that would not agree to surrender to the body of a stranger. A shape, a line, and surface is all that he had when the stranger could imagine the path to eden. Come, come near to let pain bound and thereupon untie the sheer harness that pain has brought them; lead the way. They did fight, as they escaped the land, for the truth being two-sided when the life was worth a coin. They forced all guts to succumb and believe that god has a hand in all the limitations which man has faced. Nevertheless, god as one, being one, and no one to reach god’s powers and upon committing sin and helping the poor and needy he would reward and leave the consequence to men of righteousness and dignity, like a horse without a rider that only consumes the bush while no one hides behind it to deliver a dandy sermon on the word which heals. Some believe, some don’t, alas the route to the final mystic logic becomes so vivid when I say, he says, and they agree!

In getting back the days of loss and the turbulent injustice that nearly calms and yet subdues the voice of alleyways and ruins reminding us there were men, good men, who left behind, oblivious to the surroundings, a few pointed thumbs and indexes meaning more or less an hour of depictions which downplays this drama of missing acts. Letters always deny a senders right, as an eligible carrier of emotions and hints, to pass the final dilemma which never ends yet the correspondence mostly sinks in the pond where the amphibians observe and learn. It is the message about configurations, yes and no’s, and so much more that wise men never mention, yet it goes away with the dead and the soulless that put a number on every breath. When hangman hanged we waited as he used the rope so much so eternally. Never go away! Disappearing into dawn the banging alarmed the birds of a cage and the prisoner woke too, cried his sins to the dirt. Hands cuffed behind him it pulled his guilty impression-for he wished-as skin became a shield and sin a curiosity for the onlookers were living it like an infant. The child at the end of the rainbow could only tell right from left escaping cradle by pinching money and begging for a busting bosom that was relentless, as always.

A fortunate thing never equals or measures as value while a person is preventing her pain putting on a scale.