Healing is just like the seasons;
We cannot see him, that is us, without walking with him, crying with him, laughing with him.
Man always needs help to heal;
It is possible to set the right time with the right people.
But wrong people take this time longer, and it wears out the person.
It is not necessary to make many mistakes in order to heal, but one cannot talk about healing without making mistakes.
Healing requires change. Not every change will make you and your environment happy.
Because everything foreign takes time.
And embracing it, giving it a chance to be itself is the best gift you can give yourself.
Healing requires knowledge and empathy as well as compassion;
Hugging alone is not enough.
Which is the incense of the soul, perhaps the dilemma of the yesterdays, presents the intention hidden in it with a serial.
It's the season.
It is sadness, oh, that seduces me.
I am born with the embroidery of love, words that I caressed and sewed in the presence of a gentle wind and in the presence of a gentle wind.
I write my poems for reasons of necessity, and if the aquarium of your heart is not enough, the way I fell into a sentence, my heart, which I offered from sentence, and who knows what curtain of a life full of trust is hidden in which breath I take, tell me, the alphabet of the wind?
You are a milestone.
And dozens of outdated people.
It was my rebellion against hatred and the teasing shadows and I took refuge in my one-man hut under the pen cap.
I can't rest without a summary of the day and yesterday without making a mess, and what I hoped for, I will definitely destroy, is to destroy the evil and the infamous hook. above me whereas I was luminous and a worshiper of Divine Love.
There are some people hidden in derelict houses, and when they are absent, they scatter the light like a pomegranate. defying the sound of the wind in the heat of hell that this endless fire is annotated and extinguishing the gigantic fire.
I split the day
I threw my bed away.
I am a sad syllable of your poem in the hidden stampede and stem cell of the night in your throat.
The way I went for love.
A life I've suffered
And even if I am sad, since God exists, there is no sadness.
Here I take the courage from the three letters and escape from a three letter torment. I write and love miserably in the name of being read to the paradise hidden in my mad heart.
That thick silence hidden in my sadness does not even matter to some people, the pain experienced, I open up my life and feelings and blessings, I suddenly shiver in every breeze I know.
It's not that I let go of the tight rope, you know, it's so new.
My enthusiasm faded and my sadness grew, so I forgot myself and neglected people as much as I raised them. Just when I was about to destroy the orphan child inside me, oh, he took my hand, my Lord and my guardian angels, and then I tended to peace as I was protected, I ran away from the grinning demon with my strength of faith and ran away from the evil demon. I read.
I have laments.
Ah, the cruel shadows I cast.
There are feelings of recourse to the original.
There are prayers hidden in my heart.
There is a pale dawn, and we have faith in the future as much as we hope for the sake of the night and the water of the day.
There must be rain:
There is the crop of hope, maybe there is getting wet, as the poet said:
I don't want to carry an umbrella
Getting wet is better
Searching for your lost heart
With the tears of a poet.
I just reported my heart to the mechanical voice that came up when I dialed the unknown number:
I am burning, we are burning and we are commemorating the beauties of yesterday and the victory of the heart and we are already entrusted to our almighty Lord...
