This is a song I really do love. It reminds me of Lily's struggles:
Si c'était à refaire

I thought I might share it with you.

Love,

H.

Hey, sweethearts :)

I'll be doing an online reading soon. I'm so excited :D. I'll let you know as soon as it is up.

Love,

H.

Book Trailer

My book trailer is now live :)

The Sign of Change (H. El-Tahwagi) book trailer

Au Clair de la Lune: Official song version for the book ;)

Hey, my friends :)
The novel song version of "Au Clair de la Lune" is out now. You can listen to it here:
Au Clair de la Lune (Official Song Version for the book)

I hope you like it.

Best,
H.

Thank you, Mercedes Fox, for the great interview :):
https://mercedesfoxbooks.com/meet-author-h-el-tahwagi/

Rain, rain, and more rain... Sounds bad, huh? Well, I'm used to it...
What a great condition for writing a poem?
There you go:
The Sign of Change ©2016, H. El-Tahwagi
This content is protected by copyright. Any use without the permission of the author is strictly
prohibited!
Drops
Drop-- heavy and smooth
Drop-- low like a blues
Drop-- beating in my head
Drop-- words unsaid
Drop-- even and known
Drop-- on its own
Drop-- splashy and wet
Drop-- when we met
Drop-- on my cheeks
Drop-- there for weeks
Drop-- on your lips
Drop-- parting trips
Drop-- in my heart
Drop-- as an art
Drop-- hard like stone
Drop-- on my bone
Drop-- fairly long
DROP-- loud and strong
DROP-- in my ear
DROP-- triggers fear
DROP-- triggers pain
DROP-- like a chain
DROP-- in a storm
DROP-- cold not warm
DROP-- on the drum
DROP-- overcome
DROP-- nothing new
DROP-- more than true
DROP-- running down
DROP-- my damp gown
DROP-- your wet palm
DROP-- resting calm
DROP-- your tight chin
DROP-- voice within
DROP-- crying out
DROP-- without doubt
DROP-- loosened grip
DROP-- from the hip
DROP-- image blurs
DROP-- gloom occurs
DROP-- and it stops
DROP-- only drops

Hello there!
Summer is slowly coming to an end to make room for autumn. Here is what comes to my mind when I think of that amazingly beautiful season:

Sonnet 73

by William Shakespeare (1609)


That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.