Darkness is playing ball in the corridors of my mind

My wing is broken and I'm flapping incessantly. My poems that I keep in my bowl, which is actually the product of sadness, which I divide a day, then slice my heart, and then keep it waiting on the execution bench. And my exposures that I wrote and deleted recently. Moreover, if I live without knowing time and space, but with my floating existence, I bring a multidimensional perspective to life with a transdimensional awareness.

If it's a divine void, it scares people.

And every prayer time that I live for God and go into his presence, especially my aphorisms, my lost route, my lost note and the unknowns escaping from the distorted equality of the equation, the coordinates that I still can't determine on the axis of happiness and sleep time, while it's actually the satellite of sleep time, is the bottom. my memory.

Since the plectrum is broken.

My temple is also in shambles at present.

Shaking hands with the truth in a dream-pass where I hurl legends in the breeze of mourning.

Did our fear stem from the possibility of the past being taken away from us?

Truths that imitate by making mistakes, and the files that are hidden in the person while he is the addressee, and the shelves of my mind: it was not enough that I reserved as a cover from the first scraps of a book I will be holding soon.

Even though I try to cover it up, every detail hanging on an impermeable surface forever and the touches of absolute happiness is almost like a notebook of my life, where I took a note, all the huge rulers from my university years and how I could not reconcile with my incompatibility with my profession and my dreams were destroyed in a short time…

While I was wondering about the world of his dreams and with the ideas and totems he placed at the center of his life, a new door opened in front of me, of course, I followed the traces and secrets of the author, and there is more to my share.

He is a living writer who writes in a hurry, and while the miracles that are known after his death can of course be offered to people after death, the fact that I easily understand and examine his rush gives way to a very relative axis.

If a pattern requires an effort about life and where we look and see what and how, and being a soldier who hopes tirelessly, the wind of the story and the stories to be written cools the hot climate inside us, while it is possible to feel cold on a summer day, and in the waters of death that offers us from the adversities we have been through. While more than drowning is hidden, it is also within us as a handicap.

The city's dull farewell to the day.

The floods of the day flood the night.

And in pursuit of well-shaped hearts, we are actually stuck with ourselves.

While it's a facial expression with scowls hanging down, and sometimes a salute while holding up a lot of things with ease.

The purge of a frosty night.

A day-based love tale.

The lights of the flashing city, perhaps, a convoy that is still making a parade, with the soles of the bridge burning, is not actually a holiday, but what we imitate, while the happiness and peace are obviously hidden in the bosom of belief.

Freezing images.

Darkness is in the corridors of the mind while playing ball.

And here, the disorder hidden in the order is perhaps the projection of the longing and mercy we feel for the water flowing from the water fountain of the heart, like a bridge stretching from the feelings that change lane to the future, an excitement that is never possible for no reason, and a miracle that happens when we cannot figure out what it consists of.

The fertile miracles echo each other, and the gigantic draft of hope and the driver ejected from a car standing in the middle of the road in the flowing traffic, besides, the light rain that destroys the weight of the air, like the crumbs of dreams escaping from an unknown that passes tangentially in the mess of the season, like the wind against the sky, also the night and the bridge. a debate that frees people from all kinds of troubles and saves them, moreover, it is about the future while it is the result of all the prayers hidden in its compass.