To write at precisely this time in order to release this heavy pain from your chest, this is the only possible option for escaping after escaping into the sky, to find the entire universe turned into a tight shoe, this contemptible land that is not equivalent to the wing of a mosquito is also a tight shoe, which does not fit Your swollen foot due to a long walk that does not lead to anywhere, where do I walk, is there a way that I can go on without feeling this terrible hatred of myself, without feeling that I would like to spit my inspiration in the open, is there one way that I can without constricting my thorns? ! Without hating and hating me? I know fleeing to God is the only thing I have to ask, even if he knows that my voice is hoarse! Harkened to the point where I cannot ask for anything. My voice has been silenced forever, and I do not know how long this is forever. Eternity for the people here is very short ..
My heart is extinguished, and I cannot resist this fading out, how can he get a sad lamp with broken light ?! Does the burning garbage light up except for someone like it ?! Do I have to burn repeatedly to light up ?! .. I always feared the darkness, but now, what I fear most is that that darkness will emanate from me, that I will burn to the point where nothing can afterwards be resurrected in the light.
People are in pain, O God, people are foolish and ignorant and do not know anything, regardless of their level of knowledge. Talk to them about the fire that is burning here in your chest, prescribing for you a good medicine for heartburn. Tell them about the sounds of heaven. They talk to you about beating drums. Tell them about the beauty that made literature a heavenly task of reforming They talk to you about the empty fanfare, tell them about the pain that squeezes your heart and makes you unable to breathe, and they bring you a doctor from them who gives you a spray that sprays a useless mist, people are ugly, Lord, and I am in pain and you are beautiful!
More beautiful than everything, than the universe, the sky and the paradise that is far away from us and does not approach except with your mercy, and nothing in it is as pleasant as your beauty!
People are ugly, O God, they only take words from your names that they put in their names to be blessed with something that they do not understand. People are dead and they force the living to die like them, and nothing in the hand of the living they do except to resist so that they do not dissolve in the division of the dead with them! People do not know how to deal with rust, fading, fading, or breakage, and I am very dull, tired and faint, and the sigh comes out of the chest muffled, she had to remain in her place, refusing to go out, or it was possible to gather strength and come out at once full of challenge and life, but it is Masttaat this is not estimated at that, but it came out muffled, just as expressed in this term, like the whole things and people and places, do not benefit only increase the amount of pain and picking wound which has been softened by doing all this time, all this time ,!
All this time, one person or one thing or one place could not make the wound heal ?! All this time ?!
All this time and everyone who came or did what he did did anything other than contaminating the wound, scratching it, stabbing it, or creating side wounds that gathered on it to increase its breadth!
Does ugliness realize itself ?!
Does he admit ?!
Am I beautiful to feel ugly and ugly ?!
How do you know if you are beautiful or ugly if someone who met you called you ugly ?! Do you believe him or give him the same !!
They are symptoms of alienation, I am one thing among all of them, something that does not know whether it is ugly or beautiful ?! But he realizes that he is strange, strange, lonely and miserable, and the rest are happy, with their ugliness, which they see as beauty, or with their beauty which I see as ugliness, ecstatic by their resemblance, by their death, by their corpses, proud of their presence and their abundance, I do not blame them for anything, but all I ask is that everyone stay in his place, The dead are dead, and the living are strangers.