I searched for a garden of paradise in my life adventure

My fascination is on the lapel of my pen like a badge that attaches to reality and sometimes dreams.

Uncapped words are not in my area of ​​interest. In fact, even though I accept every word, I am defeated by the possibility of being satirical, sometimes expatriate, sometimes pointing out the words and missing images, one by one, for a lifetime.

No, no, that can't be me.

Tongue sore or heartache?

I can never be you, or do I smoke like you guys or just like a child?

am i mischievous?

Is he cheating?

Or is it a freak of the devil who carries all this silence in his heart in the name of sound?

Its memorandum is the universe and its love is the vastness.

Diphtheria.

Maybe the bird landed.

Bird feathers or feathers on my words?

Since I took life to the stinger, the threshold in my heart that I could not tie to a solid stake.

Or is a donkey loaded with words that go away?

Maybe it's the remnant of humanity and the feelings that I took advantage of.

The day I grew up in my eyes.

It's the syllable that I split day by day.

I put the day in the bag, and at night I took a stroll on her transparent skin.

Maybe it was a gimmick.

Maybe it was the only one in its lane, my heart voice, moreover, I was embezzled by the world, which neither day nor yesterday had donated almost the whole of my life.

If it's love, my kind and obvious promise.

The season is dry and expired in winter.

The cold and rain and snow that I wintered in and here was the April sun rushing, now the migratory birds, now the raging wind that did not cease to take vengeance.

Here is the one where I depicted the day from the night, and here is what I wrote about tomorrow hours ago. who was i

Was it my pen or my command?

While I was shouting orders to a battalion full of words hidden inside me with the air of a commander, after all, our subject, which I half won my battle with my soul and that I defended my will until my last breath, is only literature and life.

He is satisfied with my troubles from yesterday.

Maybe the scale-filled notes and my fingers making love to the ivory keys of my old-time upright piano and the notes are now replaced by words and keys are replaced by words and here are my flags that I finally unfurled.

Just as I loved without making a sound out of courtesy, the values ​​and teachings hidden in me upon request, of course, I once set my head on the path called life.

My past and my memory.

of my tomorrows.

I faced and identified with my destiny.

While I was busy with writing, while I was busy with writing who grew up when I was in trouble, certainly shrugged off the wicked shadows.

My climate is spring, I'm never burdened with a dilemma.

My principle and my ideal and my note.

My Divine Confidence.

Who cares if my life is spent in seclusion?

Nor to fall into a huge void.

While attached to the radar of love, my soul and self are hidden in my heart, with that rhythm, I escaped from the shadows rearing on the earth and made a contract with my Lord in the atlas of emotions.

I was a calendar, wasn't I?

Or is it the preface or the story of a moody and sweet poem, and here is my bright and legitimate defense that I healed from derelict syllables, of course, every time I mess with the pen, the reader is also involved and I am bouncing like a pawn or a checker stone from one branch to another.

Besides, I'm not lying.

While what I did about my day yesterday is the guarantee of what I will do, my only mistake is that I did not continue.

When I say my student identity, when I say playing in academics, and when I was a teacher, I was not aware that I was actually looking for a garden of paradise in my banking adventure, and of course, when I saw a comfortable bank chair as equal to heaven and rewarded my colleagues as an angel, of course, when the pumpkin exploded on my head.