The consolations that we console ourselves in case they come and get better
As life comes and goes,
with floods, storms, whistles, cantors
With resentments!
It's going!
In the shadow of the absence of you, where it is evening today
On this day poets wrote poems in silence,
By multiplying the screams inside!
Crying the loneliness inside!
Darkness is slowly descending on the city
Everything is silent in front of the numbered houses of the streets, the fearful delicacies that have been silenced are multiplying before my eyes!
Wherever I touch my hand, the night, the falling evening mixes with the cold air, with the cold hearts.
Heat; Both climatic and human-like temperatures do not visit the North of the Earth these days!
The sky is far, but frosty and cold! One by one, the stars began to scatter even to touch the bitter souls.
Everyone is getting ready to get bullets from the left side, to get colder and more cold!
To spend the hours of solitude alone!
Who doesn't even have a friend, who doesn't call them!
The one who was injured a lot on his left side, injured, missed from life, poor poor walking into the night with crutches.
In the streets full of the wounded, who confidently rule the loneliness, slamming the walls and trying to find their way by walking!
The pain of reunion in the eyes, the deep pain of love inside, the longing for a drop of water wetness on the dried throat.
In the evening, at work, the alley that passes into the night where resentment feeds, a step or a foot left to nightmares and nightmares!
It makes us roam, suffocating with sadness!
An oily rope that has reached the limit of a noose, suffocating with mourning.
Evening, master of the night, patient of the stars and moonlight,
The night of the evening that rips our flesh from our souls, suffocates a lot, but does not kill,
It consumes our last joy.
While everyone is withdrawing to their own home, for the sake of getting lost in the corridors of darkness,
To embrace the night,
Under the weight of nihavent and best songs.
Between the deep blows the left side has received and suffered.
From the hazan, from the dark winter, from poverty, from hunger and from sickness, verses are poured out in the name of springs that never come to us!
Good intentions are shot, in a daily life of butterflies!
Among the consolations we console ourselves in case it comes, it will get better.
At dawn to blow blood red leaves
We fall as we run, on cliffs that pass from evening to night
Rolling in the palms of our nothingness
Suffering is made at the tables of poverty, plunder and despair
To peoples I can't even name
In the spaces we hide on our left sides
We fill our anger into the evenings...
To hit the night, in lamplights
Writing articles on morocco tables
Between the ruined walls,
In the midst of torture, when we lost everything
Even the smiles on our faces are sad
Appears in the purity of dimples
When we give life to life and count life water
We call plurals, remaining memories
In the name of the night, because we are afraid of the evening
Roses play the draw of misfortune
in fatal times
With our ceaseless attitudes and behaviors
We pluck daisies, we know the consequences
With the pain of love's spurs
Night to night, good night
To our most cherished assets…
Lifetimes dedicated to lifetimes!
Where is it?
