I've never been a misfit person

That world where I suffocate is, of course, my intimacy, cross-legged and swaddled.

My words are never isolated and my voice is still cheerful and my genealogy is still Sunshine.

My ancestors, my grandfathers and many people I have read mercy on, maybe I am a dervish looking for his cap, I am the lodge of my heart.

The wind that slays love and my feelings hanging in my temple.

If I want to get profit, my hibiscus feelings that I boycotted life and the day and caused a chain accident, sometimes like lifting a cauldron, sometimes like a forgotten child somewhere, most of all, to turn my suffering into joy. .

A land, maybe the land of my soul.

The reality and all the people that do not leave me with a fake dream are patting me on the back.

Is it the veil of the day? What good is it when other veils are hidden inside the veil?

There are many visible and invisible things and songs with an incomprehensible accent, like a talent that emerges in my inner accent, and I paint a picture of emotions whenever I sit at the desk and protest everything that triggers my sleep.

My eyes are not sleepy.

I've never been a misfit person, but as it turns out, it didn't suit me and those who came after me, I never put my inner child to sleep and I always kept it alive so that my innocence would not end.

Sometimes when I have no obligation.

While I have no meaning.

What I report is myself: my identity card is undecided and I have not yet decided what I come across, but the traveler in me is constantly poking and I can't offer an explanation, since I'm a bud that doesn't bloom all the time, since I'm sneaking out of my heart's garden where I'm rooted and whistling mercy, I know when it's dry I know that my Lord will not leave me and as my tongue and palate dries up, I shed tears a lot, I mourn a lot, I intend a lot, and that sudden downpour.

An apocalyptic crowd that sometimes invades me and boycotts my loneliness.

If there is a call from the heavens, what makes my ears ring and here I am, I raise the bar of happiness and love even higher and I want to be on the top and kiss the clouds on the forehead but it doesn't work, I can't do it and I fall from the ground, while my guard is falling, tears are falling from my eyes, finally people are falling from my eyes.

The ones I have trapped in my rib cage.

Sometimes peace, sometimes sadness, sometimes the other emotion that I neglect.

To write a longing.

It's an intention that goes through me.

I would like to inform you one by one, while I am going to tell the birds that my heart beats like them, and I explain that I am not a bird-brained in this universe where I love bird's eye view and rain, I am passing like birds from one hope to another, maybe falling from a cloud to the earth.

My feelings that I brought into line are that I never feel ashamed.

The good days that I'm longing for and I'm waiting.

While the night is boiling, I only ask for a breeze from my God and it blows like a wind, I remember with a longing hidden in my food and I evacuate yesterday, anyway, it is hidden inside me.

The call of the season is that sometimes someone ignores me and somehow I boycott by writing words that signify my existence and my silence.

A different color every day.

Every poem is a lifetime.

A torture hidden in every life, considered a virtue by some.

Nice breeze to my stagnation which is suspense.

Nice occasion to my words that shovel love.

My good deed is unspoken.

Many followers of your love that never gives up.

I like love from loves, while envying the season, I know that I am a free season and like children filling the recreation areas, I skip with enthusiasm like the children who fill the recreation areas, I pass on the troubles and love, I offer my condolences to my loved ones, perhaps in the crystalline voice of the nightingale, to all the flowers that died, and beyond being a flower, I extend the harvest of my feelings sometimes like plump spikes My eyes, which I bow down and sometimes with my head erect, spread to the heaven inside me, and sometimes the cruel and oppressed that I stand up, my love and sad smile, and I know that the nuance of love will accompany other seasons every day...