I was born on a track where love roars and trembles like crazy

I am the song of my tired months, the way I fall in every crop time. I am the veil of darkness.

I am sad, dear:

My sovereign and my orphan heart.

I am a loss hidden in dream climates and a humble self.

Dreams are lost, real in their spiral, my notes are missing.

It is a bundle that I sometimes burn and sometimes melt, in which I hide.

I was born on a path where love roared and trembled like crazy, when I was the centrifugal center of a world where I didn't care about gravity, in the insignificance of time, in the uncertainty of love, how demanding the sunlight was, and I, of course, of the past.

My destroyed yesterday.

My presence in the moment.

I suffered a pain of age, and in every poem I wrote, I was shaken, taken, and I was the favorite of my heart in the excess of dreams, oh those images are sometimes the highest altitude, where I hit like a hook puzzle and the highest altitude, where I strike love, is also the meaning of eternity.

Actually, I'm a long-dead man.

Don't look at my hair growing beard!

My nails keep growing too.

They didn't even realize that I was dead.

I declare the earth.

I confess the love I fell into.

I compliment the mirror, but thousands of me are hidden in its fragments, in the depths of the mirror and my heart is full of holes, it is never a lie, and whenever I start the day with a zero defeat, the future that I pronounce is in the fountain of the heart, my frost from the night, my poetry, my supplication and the compass of my heart, sometimes when my heart is water, sometimes my heart is water Whenever I pick up a pen that flows and I stand on my feet…

My shadows.

My altar

My temperament

My age and my milestone and my hearth and my heart's climate, maybe before I give notice, a smile is played in my ear while I hold the trigger of the pen that I put on my temple, and every spark that emerges is like a silent song in the beet of love like a horse I spur.

The years I collected horseshoes.

Hits hidden in my intuition.

What a spring it was indeed, after three children!

I think I had a dream.

Was it mirage wet girl?

Was it worth the pleasure I got, all the suffering I went through!

It turned out that it was a rough terrain, life and its debris, from whichever way I look from the lane of my life, where I rebuilt new worlds and gave a huge inspiration, the years I died and the love of fire like flaming branches, the fountain in the sky and the shawl that I took on my shoulder, maybe my ragged self and I have no intention of deviating from the path I walk. Thousands of feelings and sentences that I stuck in my heart when I was

What kind of season is this, I don't understand!

I once wanted to live.

How I entered an era I never wanted!

While I was running around, I returned to my childhood, when I started walking with stumbling blocks.

How I wish I could stand upright like a soldier!

To strut like wrestlers.

To tremble where I step.

I wish I could, what should I do after this age to know!

Roads, streets, gardens, heaps of leaves, crunchy as you press, pale yellow, dry.

I think of the moment when I will fall to the ground, while walking by stepping on them.

Every living thing will taste death.

It's either late or early...