This poem was born from the weight and mystery of the urban soul — that vast landscape where forgotten dreams, anonymous courage, and quiet heartbreak coexist. The city is not merely a place; it is a living body that carries echoes of beauty and ruin, tenderness and betrayal. I wrote this piece as an ode to those unseen heroes whose battles are silent, whose smiles are thin but luminous. In every corner, beneath the asphalt heat and the fading afternoon light, I felt their presence — not as myths, but as questions that burn with meaning.

— Gabriel Ganiarov


One might say that the city and its heroes
are like unknown lights
dim memories of memories
that fade away in their soft breaks

And the city is home to
monsters and deceitful maidens
good men
women of sweetened grace

true lovers of skirmishes

The city contains
unheard-of essences
black pools of misfortune
heavy wads of cash

it also harbors in its bowels
the dazzled cry of the poet
the cruelty of the abandoned
the strong caress of the beloved


The city and its heroes
plunge into every drop of light in its afternoons
one after another
their emaciated and smiling faces
like the questions that south of its sun
warm themselves immensely on asphalt...

Diríase de la ciudad y sus héroes
son como luces ignotas
foscos recuerdos de memorias
que se agotan en sus blandos quiebres

Y es que la ciudad alberga
monstruos y doncellas falaces
hombres buenos
mujeres de gracia edulcorada

verdaderos amantes de refriegas

La ciudad contiene
escencias inauditas
pozas negras de infortunios
pesados mazos de billetes

tambien alberga en su entraña
al grito deslumbrado del poeta
a la saña del abandonado
a la caricia fuerte del amado


La ciudad y sus héroes
se despeñan en cada gota de luz de sus tardes
se suceden una a una
sus caras demacradas y sonrientes
como las preguntas que al sur de su sol
se calientan inmensas en asfalto...

Si direbbe della città e dei suoi eroi
sono come luci sconosciute
ricordi oscuri di memorie
che si esauriscono nelle loro morbide fratture

E il fatto è che la città ospita
mostri e fanciulle fallaci
uomini buoni
donne dalla grazia addolcita

veri amanti delle risse

La città contiene
essenze inaudite
pozze nere di sventure
pesanti mazzi di banconote

ospita anche nelle sue viscere
il grido abbagliante del poeta
la crudeltà dell'abbandonato
la forte carezza dell'amato


La città e i suoi eroi
si precipitano in ogni goccia di luce dei suoi pomeriggi
si susseguono uno dopo l'altro
i loro volti emaciati e sorridenti
come le domande che a sud del suo sole
si riscaldano immense sull'asfalto...

On pourrait dire que la ville et ses héros
sont comme des lumières inconnues
des souvenirs sombres
qui s'épuisent dans leurs douces ruptures

Car la ville abrite
des monstres et des demoiselles fallacieuses
des hommes bons
des femmes à la grâce édulcorée

de véritables amateurs de querelles

La ville contient
des essences inconnues
des fosses noires de malheurs
de lourds liasses de billets

elle abrite aussi en son sein
le cri éblouissant du poète
la cruauté de l'abandonné
la caresse forte de l'aimé


La ville et ses héros
se précipitent dans chaque goutte de lumière de ses après-midis
ils se succèdent un à un
leurs visages émaciés et souriants
comme les questions qui, au sud de son soleil
se réchauffent immenses sur l'asphalte...


Gabriel Ganiarov
Copyrigth: 2025

One might say that the city and its hero

After sleepwalking our way through life, we eventually awake to the reality of our existence.

Awakening

I wrote this poem as someone seeking solace not in glory, but in the intimacy of trembling; not at the summit, but in the hollow of autumn, where the spiral of thought sinks.

The final sunflower, that image looking up at the sky from its roots covered by earth, is not a naive promise of rebirth. It is a deep desire to reappear with different eyes, to continue looking even from the abyss, and to turn solitude into a solar gesture.

This poem seeks not only readers, but accomplices in silence. It is not offered as an explanation of the world, but as a testimony to its mystery.

— Gabriel Ganiarov

I wrote about the water
about time
I described the burnished metal
its scents
I know mourning and its bronze shield
the mountains of brandished fury

I reached for the unbridled roses
I treasure the first dawn
the thunder of foliage
the birds that flew back to the nest

I hear the pulse of water
I hear the world's own pulsing
it is pure space, untouchable,
igneous
it is a caress of untamed gesture

I searched within autumn’s hollows
the cold wire of the sackcloth I wear
sinking the spiral
below all else
this unfathomable vein
of tears in the ocean

Everything I’ve ever read
speaks of resplendent heroes
gods, broadswords
celestial solemnities

but nothing speaks to me
of how I need myself
of how to smile at myself alone
of how to flee the great sea
and drift away, solitary, through its heartbeats

Perhaps my solace will be
once covered
sheltered in mother earth
to be reborn wrapped
gazing skyward like a sunflower

J'ai écrit sur l'eau,
sur le temps.
J'ai décrit le métal poli,
ses parfums.
Je connais le deuil et son bouclier de bronze,
les montagnes de fureur brandie.

J'ai tendu la main vers les roses débridées,
je chéris la première aube,
le tonnerre du feuillage,
les oiseaux qui sont revenus au nid.

J'entends le pouls de l'eau
J'entends le pouls du monde
C'est un espace pur, intouchable,
igné
C'est une caresse au geste sauvage

J'ai cherché dans les creux de l'automne
le fil froid du sac que je porte
enfonçant la spirale
au-dessous de tout le reste
cette veine insondable
de larmes dans l'océan

Tout ce que j'ai lu
parle de héros resplendissants
de dieux, d'épées larges
de solennités célestes

mais rien ne me parle
de mon besoin de moi-même
de la façon de sourire à moi-même seul
de la façon de fuir la grande mer
et de dériver, solitaire, à travers ses battements de cœur

Peut-être que mon réconfort sera
une fois recouvert
abrité dans la terre mère
de renaître enveloppé
le regard tourné vers le ciel comme un tournesol

Escribí sobre el agua 
sobre el tiempo
describí al metal bruñido 
sus olores
conozco al luto y su escudo de bronce
a las montañas de furia enarbolada


aspiré a las desatadas rosas
atesoro al primer amanecer
el trueno del follaje
las aves que volaron hasta el nido

Oigo el pulso del agua
oigo al pulsar del mundo
es espacio puro, inasible,
ígneo
es caricia de gesto indomable

busqué en las cavidades del otoño
al frio alambre del sayal que visto
hundiendo la espiral
más abajo de todas
esta veta insondable
de las lágrimas en el océano

Todo aquello que he leído
habla sobre héroes refulgentes
dioses, mandobles
Celestes circunspectas

pero nada me habla
del cómo yo me necesito
de cómo sonreírme a mí solo
del cómo huir del magno mar
y alejarme solitario en sus latidos

Quizás mi consuelo sea
una vez cubierto
abrigado en la madre tierra
renacer envuelto
mirando al cielo como un girasol

Gabriel Ganiarov
Copyrigth: 2016


I wrote about the water

🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🚀🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Lemme c som’n

Oh so they want money for this sample? ha

ONLY

SIRENS

SEPARATION

Tracklist:
01 -Marina Maximilian, Adam Ten, Mita Gami -Million Pieces (Original Mix)
02 - Gianluca Calabrese -I Got The Power (Original Mix)
03 - Dub Pepper, Februm, ANIRADA - My Desire (Night Mix)
04 - Daniel Jaeger, Beobê - Back To The Club  (Extended Mix)
05 - Marsias, Ali Bakgor, Celik - They Know My Name (Extended Mix)
06 - Nick Schwenderling, MAZ'N - Ways (Extended Mix)
07 - Sharam Jey, Frey - Walk Away  (Original Mix)
08 - Bouzidi - Everyone Is Right (Original Mix)
09 - Arkaim - The Rave (Extended Mix)
10 - Moontalk - Lovergirl (Original Mix)
11 - SIlvera -Journey to the Spectrum of Sound (TH3OS Remix)
12 - Pysh, David LeSal - That Groove  (Original Mix)
13 - Garden City Movement, Mita Gami - Terracotta (Original Mix)
14 - Bonafique, KADI (IL) - Jazzmin (Extended Mix)
15 - German Brigante - Take Control  (Original Mix)

Bayfront Sessions #8 [Indie Dance & Melodic]

A Musical Instrument can tell you a Story (Brand new Vinyl shit) In the Mix

VISION 4

Space Nite

Gabriel Ganiarov
My work is born where language collapses and the tremor takes root. I write poems: I summon resonances. I am neither a producer nor a beatmaker: I am a poet who has learned to breathe with machines, to dance with code, to translate electricity into memory.

This sonic space I inhabit is the extension of my writing. Every song you hear here was conceived from the pulse of a poem—not one that aspires to formal perfection, but to the crack, the fold, the lingering echo of a soul that refuses to be silenced.

I call this gesture synaptic poetry: a lyrical architecture woven from unexpected connections—between word and algorithm, between emotion and machine, between exile and belonging. The melodies that accompany me here were designed with artificial intelligence, but it is my voice that activates them, my story that embodies them, my resistance that gives them meaning. There is no artifice without soul.

I am part of a displaced, fragmented generation—but not a silenced one. I come from the analog age and have evolved into the digital. That is why my aesthetic answers to what I call the Poetics of the Margin: not a lesser aesthetic, but an ethical stance. I write from the edges of the cultural map and from the fissures of the industry; I sing from the diaspora, not as a victim, but as a witness, as an exile of noise and a cartographer of whisper.

Here, on this profile, converge verses sung in more than one language, rhythms that have crossed sonic borders, and wounds that, when they dance, become bridges. Listening to these songs is opening the door to a lyrical continent where nostalgia merges with the digital pulse, and intimacy becomes expansive.

Welcome to this musical frontier where poems pulse and scars sing.
Here there is center, there is root.
Here there is homeland, there is voice.
Here, you can hear the rain falling—and also create from the beat, let the glitch run free, and endow poetry with binary code, in tune with the times we live in…

Poet,Author,Composer,Songwriter. Proudly born in Venezuela, living in Perú
kata ton daimona eiatoy
Follower of the Ligth

I wrote about the water

Gabriel Ganiarov

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