Wednesday, February 25, 2026

Each Time I Nearly Break – Emotional Pop Ballad About Healing, Forgiveness & Quiet Strength

An image featuring a woman standing in a dark, smoky environment, illuminated by a dramatic beam of light from above. She is looking upward with a somber or contemplative expression.  Large, stylized text overlaying the center reads, "Each Time I Nearly BREAK," with the word "BREAK" appearing in a distressed, reddish-orange font. Below the main title, the name "Ali Taha Alnobani" is written in a smaller white font. The lighting creates a high-contrast effect, with blue tones on the left and warm orange tones on the right.

 

🌿 A Quiet Act of Courage in Sound: Each Time I Nearly Break

 

There are songs that speak loudly — and there are songs that sit beside you in silence, waiting for the right moment to be heard.

“Each Time I Nearly Break”, written by Ali Taha Alnobani, belongs to the second kind.

It does not rush to comfort you.

It walks with you through the fragile space between pain and survival.

From its very first line —

“Each time I nearly break, I rise again for my own sake” —

the song makes something clear: this is not a story about heroism for an audience. It is about private courage. The kind that happens when nobody is watching.


 🌱 Turning hurt into something living

One of the most beautiful ideas in this song is how suffering is transformed — not erased.

> “To plant a flower where thorns still live.”

Pain is still there. The thorns remain.

But life grows beside them.

The lyrics refuse to pretend that healing means forgetting. Instead, they suggest something far more honest: learning how to exist with the scars without letting them become walls.

When the song says:

> “They tried to silence me with stones,

> But I built bridges out of bones.”

it captures the quiet rebellion of resilience.

The very things meant to break you become the structure that carries you forward.


💔 A soft answer to hard hearts

 

What makes this song deeply human is its gentleness.

> “Every scar, a light I own —

> A soft reply to hearts of stone.”

There is no revenge here.

No bitterness.

Only the quiet decision to remain tender in a world that keeps offering reasons to close off.

This is emotional maturity in lyrical form — choosing softness not because the world is kind, but because you refuse to let cruelty rewrite your inner language.

 

 ☁️ The chorus: where grief learns to breathe

The chorus feels like a slow exhale.

> “Each time I nearly fall apart,

> I tie a ribbon ’round my heart.”

It’s a fragile image — almost childlike — and that is exactly why it works. Healing is not always dramatic. Sometimes it is simply learning how to hold yourself together gently.

The floating clouds, drifting east and west, and finally falling like suns into “a lake that dreams in gold” create a cinematic emotional landscape. Grief is no longer loud. It becomes something quiet, reflective — something that can finally be spoken without breaking the voice.

> “Where quiet grief is gently told.”

Few lines describe emotional processing so truthfully.

Visit youtube channel

🌊 Love that lingers after it leaves

Verse two shifts the emotional focus from survival to loss.

> “And you — where did you go?”

This is not anger. It is wonder.

A stunned tenderness toward someone who arrived like light and disappeared just as quietly.

> “A flash, a sigh, a ghost in light —

> Now you’re the echo in my night.”

The song understands how some relationships do not end in conflict — they end in silence. And sometimes, that silence is harder to carry.

 

 🌼 Choosing grace when anger feels easier

The bridge is one of the most emotionally powerful moments in the song:

> “I answer thorns with bloom and grace,

> I won’t let anger steal my face.”

This line does not deny pain.

It rejects what pain can turn us into.

It is a conscious decision to protect one’s inner identity — to not allow disappointment, betrayal, or regret to become the permanent expression we wear.

 

 🕯️ The final chorus: survival becomes hope

The closing lines gently lift the song from reflection into light:

> “Each time I nearly lose my spark,

> I find it glowing in the dark.”

Hope here is not loud or triumphant.

It is small. It flickers. But it survives.

> “A broken bird that finds its wing.”

Not a perfect bird.

Not an unhurt one.

A broken one — still capable of flight.

 

 🎼 A lyric video that lets the words lead

 

The official lyric video of Each Time I Nearly Break is designed with restraint and emotional intelligence. Gentle piano, warm strings, subtle electronic textures and intimate vocals create a soft cinematic space where the lyrics remain at the center.

Rather than overwhelming the listener with visuals, the video allows every line to breathe — guiding the listener through a slow emotional journey of forgiveness, inner healing, and quiet strength.

It captures the fragile moment between falling apart and standing up again.

 

  Why this song matters

Each Time I Nearly Break is not only a pop ballad.

It is an emotional companion for anyone who has had to rebuild themselves silently.

It speaks to:

 emotional survival,

 forgiveness without forgetting,

 and the slow, private work of becoming whole again.

This is a song for the people who keep going — not because life became easier, but because they learned how to be gentler with themselves.

 


Sunday, September 21, 2025

Turning My Poetry into Songs with AI – Real Examples

 

A banner image with the text "Music Beyond Borders" in a large, black, stylized font. Below it, the name "Ali Taha Alhobani" is written in blue. The background is a horizontal, blurry band of vibrant colors including turquoise, purple, and green on a white field.

Turning My Poetry into Songs with AI – Real Examples

When Poetry Sings: My Journey Turning Poems into Songs with Artificial Intelligence

“Poetry is silent song… so why not let it sing out loud?”

For over a decade, I’ve been writing on this literary and cultural blog — soaring with words, whispering to readers through poems and essays, dissecting culture, reshaping ideas with ink that never dries. But in recent years, I began to feel something was missing… as if the poem, despite its beauty, remained imprisoned on the page — unable to reach those who don’t read, or touch those living in a world of sound and motion.

That’s when the experiment began.

The Experiment I Never Planned

I never imagined I’d sit in front of a screen one day, transforming verses I wrote in moments of sorrow, rage, or love, into full songs. I didn’t have a professional voice, a studio, or even deep musical training. All I had were poems, an idea, and an irresistible curiosity.

I started searching, experimenting, failing — then trying again. I discovered that artificial intelligence isn’t a replacement for talent, but rather a bridge — stretching between what I possess (the word) and what I lack (melody, arrangement, sometimes even voice). It wasn’t magic, as some claim. It was a painstaking process requiring human intervention, artistic taste, and emotional intelligence no machine can replicate.

How Did the Transformation Happen?

It wasn’t a button I pressed to turn poetry into song. No.

First, I had to choose the right poem — one with an internal rhythm, imagery that could be sonically embodied, and emotions that could be sung. Then, I’d deconstruct it: line by line, word by word. I’d define the mood: Is it sad? Angry? Romantic? Mystical?

Next, I’d use AI tools to generate a preliminary melody, then refine it — rearrange, layer sounds, and sometimes blend in my own human voice — even if imperfect — because authenticity matters more than technical perfection.

And most importantly: I refuse to let artificial intelligence be the “artist.” I am the artist. The machine is merely a tool — like a pen, a string, or a sculptor’s chisel.

Real Examples: Songs Born from Poetry

You’ll find the fruits of this experiment on my music blog: Music Beyond Borders – Ali Taha Alnobani. Not all are perfect — but all are honest. Here are some standout examples:

“Rifle or Violin?” — Rifle or Violin?

A poem I wrote in a moment of anger against violence, transformed into a hymn for peace. I used a slow, heartbeat-like rhythm — as if calming after battle. AI helped create the dramatic atmosphere, but every musical decision — every pause, every swell — was deeply human.

“Dove & Letters” — Dove & Letters

Here, I turned a love poem written during wartime into a ghostly ballad — like a message from another era. The machine provided virtual violin






Works by Ali Taha Alnobani

Works by Ali Taha Alnobani

Read Also – Articles by Ali Taha Alnobani

Read Also