A single teardrop hanging on my face translated all my feelings
If it's an urge to live
The rebellious basket of the oppressor hidden behind the fire
The words of love that I kneaded with words
Like the emptiness I scour through vague shadows
Two core words inside me
The rebellion that I live like a fool
Existence is secretive
I am so fond of loneliness that I cannot reach it.
The pattern of dreams: many half-stories hidden in the mood of the mournful night, and the call of peace emulating the depths is more than a word, I beg you, loneliness is my debt, I am hidden in the aura of blessed lights: I fled away from painful rebellions.
A single drop of tear hanging on my sad face, obviously rooted in my tears, and the epitome of love, I am hidden in that one glance, again me and the rose garden that matches my name, the tag of the climate.
I escaped from the haze, and once my eyes are most faithful to myself, I report the hell I live in.
There are opposing shadows, for example.
I can fit in a word, maybe I'll be born, grow up and die in a single day, but I haven't found a determined acceptance among the people of the whole world. I am the only witness to my feelings that I have divided with my heart.
My dreams are perfect: the world was not as pink as I was writhing in the traveler's shadow of love.
I want to be put in the beak of the bird that is the addressee of the sky, maybe I want to be a grain of wheat and be planted in the hearts and in the sheltered world of my fallow soul, which I bounce like a hidden cloud on the paving stones, sometimes like a forgotten light, on the back of the city...
As the seasons minister.
If love is in rebellions...
I don't imitate budgerigars either: I am angry with the male bird that started singing the day the female died.
I wish the shadows were not hidden in the world and in seclusions...
It is obvious that the ruminant street lamp sometimes coughs and sinks into the darkness, obviously he has a broken heart too, whose circuits are burning, just as I am fine-tuning, I want to illuminate the universe, the choking presence of darkness, which participates in a silent discourse in which I compile stories in my heart.
Silent years inside me.
As they marched along with a battalion of soldiers.
The pattern of the season is towards winter.
On the other hand, the backyard of loneliness is sometimes as dull as it can be.
The cry of your inner voice and the one that I loved when I fell into difficulties and gave it to the busy as I got hurt.
The arias of sadness sometimes choke me.
Despite the hump on my back, I managed to walk upright and my headstrong temperament mostly defended the facts with their justifications.
The nailed world is full of holes.
People and dreams and realities.
Colorless dreams and words.
While the nature of the lives hidden in the course of emotions is fond of tomorrows, the whole self of man.
Suspicions flying without question, loyal birds and rebellious shadows.
The clouds that have just unloaded and the love and wounded city surrendered to the cold.
Patch of yesterday.
The echo of sadness.
Reflection of sincerity.
While I have proven my age with my fondness for love and my resentment, while the world of clouds I circumambulate once in my life and the fruit of Divine Love, the prayers with the face turned to peace, of course, to keep my loved ones alive as long as I live on the night of the oil lamp, many people I read in my prayers and mercy have passed away to eternity...
Not fond of my temperament, just thoughtful.
A life that I burden myself with pity and that I hurt myself unknowingly.
My words, on the other hand, are as alert as the silken skin of a hidden dream.
Loyal to my sadness.
Being a helper to the orphans, and the wit of surviving and surviving at work, of course, is that besides being a faithful servant to my Lord, my sincerity grows day by day.
My prayers hidden in your loneliness and my Lord who never leaves me alone...