I was guilty for everything I explained and even my secret was a crime

As I close the suitcase I prepared for the trip, she looks into my mother's eyes and in her brief moment of silence just says, "Mother!" I would say, that's it. All her complaints would end at that moment, and the tone of my voice would make her a docile and submissive woman again.

That one word, the butterfly's determination to fly in its cocoon of love, "No!" Maybe it was the saying itself. My mother grasped this tone with the aching parts of my soul and, realizing that all the language she had spilled was in vain, she would always say with a quiet acceptance: Well, I didn't say anything.

Discrimination was the accent of your words, and it was like the fate hidden in the toes of a sparrow singing in my mad heart.

Love the juice.

The foreword of the poem.

The life that I am the subject of…

And that huge reinforcer, of course, was also the separator of love, so many loneliness hidden in the story of death, and here is the backyard of life.

It was the whispers that led me astray.

And the tantrums sprayed on my face and the condolences and sadness I offer to humanity.

Indeed, when did we die collectively?

However, mass graves were not enough for the death of all this pain.

For example, if I live in a cage.

The demon and treachery that favored my shroud.

The homage that love offers to bald ibis birds.

What remained was not pleasant, but an empty desolation, where pain coincided with love, and love wasted its breath in vain.

Principality words are lady and non-female.

How intense was the pain and sadness, perhaps tangential?

It was a river of blue that I swam in and my invisibility is after all, its nobility is loneliness, I don't even beg for love...

I didn't have exposure before because I believed everyone with my eyes closed.

Then someone left and turned around.

After that, the greetings I gave were irreversible, it means that humanity and mercy were lost, and while the most merciful of the merciful does not leave his servant alone.

Besides, I was not a slave of the world.

Nor was it the vindictive wind that blew my wishes away.

I, on the other hand, was flying incessantly with my wings, and when I was more than a clear lake, who was it that made me sick?

am i drunk?

I included or.

Summary of past life and also in inner voice.

Besides, I stopped feeling sorry for myself, and what was I punished with for a lifetime while the murderers were getting their sentences reduced for good behavior?

My word is out of parliament.

My spokesperson is in the assembly.

My pain is so deep.

History was repeating itself, even though I had buried my past in history.

Anyway, I wasn't even presenting my exposure.

Individual reasons.

And my hesitant presence finally shone, and the arrow had come out of the bow once.

I was guilty for everything I explained, and even my secret was a criminal element.

An imaginary longing.

A horizontal journey.

A person with a right angle, a head, and a straight pain.

The season had no excuse, and the words were on fire, it was one of the familiar faces in the inadequacy of love, and everything that was obvious was always rejected.

Loads every memory, memory

Great whirlpool, endless nightmare

It pulls the time by bleeding to the bottom

There the heart needs the body

None:

God is already lost.

The season of regret.

Captive humanity.

The flutters of fairness and innocence that are lost and the feelings left in the crop.

If it's a betrayal to love.

If it is a rebellion, to the established order.

Wherever the mistake was made, it was all over.

An impossible hope, a color and a tangential love.