I have prayers that I lean towards you

Bring the other lights, come on man.

Stop shouting in the middle of the boulevard

I prepared a rain for you

Come on bring the lights I'll make it rain

Who are you man, there is also this

When the verdict is given, the March cats who understand the state of death and life and the one who has fallen from the roof the most.

Don't play for my future, never shovel my dreams hidden in the compass of my beloved and love.

In the recital of sadness, the laces of which are sometimes opened, of a song that I kept in the satire of neutrality, it is the very being forgotten.

Do you have tired steps or is it a saddlebag that you have knitted from the rips in your heart?

What is your name, tell me?

Is it the folk songs in your temperament or the projection of the curse hidden in the turbulence in which the life you consume enters.

Where did you put the cushion of your heart?

Were you abandoned in the veil of heartlessness?

The noodle is the remnant of sadness, brother-in-law of the season or an adult word?

My apprehensive reservations and my dream family, on the other hand, do not catch me while I wear the truth like a badge...

The cry of the collars, the bouncer of the night, the dream basket you knitted with the wickedness of prophecy, perhaps like the women who went astray, in the ferry trip, where I go back and forth like a forgotten passenger on the pasha garden ferry. As water.

Is it your heart?

Don't make me laugh.

Stories hidden in the crevices?

Are you the one who catches fire or your skirts, you are a utopia hidden in the hegemony of yesterday.

I evacuated my dreams; In the words of love, in which guest couplets are released, I hide in any part of the day where I stumbled, most of all, I was hiding an attractive alphabet that I avoided and now I am hosting an attractive alphabet as if it were hidden in the temperament of uncertainty like a picture hanging on the mossy walls of your heart.

Sometimes I am lost at the root of love.

My blue, my life.

If your heart is a bouncer, while I train to dreams, it is my dream window in which the season laments in its cold voice.

You are not out of my sight.

You are an imaginative exposure:

You are the guardian of the climates, the inheritance of dreams.

I have prayers that I tend. If the duchess is coming, that uniform sadness is sometimes the moonlight pierced and sometimes the broken sill of the altar.

Balloons flying on my body, I was born in that hidden smile of the wind where the season cringes, I grew up, I jumped on your neck of your dreams.

A secant is perhaps my silence where death fits in, or a crippled horse stabbed in the foot of love, and here is my silence, where I am captured to death by descriptions.

My diary went dark, but the day reaped the sadness with the shadow of the light and I was exiled to the solitude of the shadows one by one.

My sadness is my budget; my sad end; the colorless flood and the trademark of your life.

It is a poplar tree without a shadow in the cemetery of the lost. The pain that I stood up and forked in a lifetime, the pains of which I have been crushed, the rough rudder hidden in its broken rudder, every tear dripping from its eyes.

Fir in the humid presence that kicks off a painful season.

Disgraceful to love.

His cry is a silent bell.

The body of the sun, whose fading face is laden with invocations and descriptions.

The twitching eyes of this old city, but thanks to its amorous heart, it has managed to stay young and enthusiastic, that gas of loneliness that is stuck in the lyrics of tired smiles.

Have you executed?

Did you walk to the execution?

Your heart is well-trained, you are a madness hidden in pains and impasses as much as you can't open up.

The day drew his nose and I urgently boiled lemon into the night, while the waters receded and went out, the stove was actually the survival of those who planted a fig tree in my hearth.

Don't console me.

Of the sunken night:

The man's sullen face and his sullen temperament.

A musical work forgotten in the moment of sadness of a life that went into a carrom, perhaps the exhausted words and wounded, patchy groans of passers-by.

Be kind, when daylight loses its power in the night.

Will it line up or the night watchmen when the darkness has already faded?

Colored the rainbow.

The red belt of the child bride was defeated.

The city bullies and that recurring smile while shouting a hijab-laden cry.

And now I'm counting from left to right, man as long as I miss my words.

Do you steal from the lighthouse?

I don't know if you hold a match, just hold it

Bring the other lights come on man

I prepared rain for you, I will make it rain.