My captivity to love is superior to the child inside me
Now I'm standing in a miraculous place
When I live in a snail's body
And my world is moving very slowly.
Other than the freckles on my face
I don't have a rebel in my life.
I am in the bed of dreams, my mother and my words are not just orphans...
My mom, I can't get enough
I planted smiles for a lifetime, and the pains I swallowed were like sticks and here is my pen, my walking stick, and sometimes people who pass me by like a scarecrow, whereas they were my flower, and I was nothing but a lifetime of enthusiasm and hope hidden on my sunflower and freckled face.
My color has come of age, my mother: I am both pink and white…
Why do I love the dark so much?
Because I am walking with the light that corresponds to the stampede inside me, not the old words that I circumnavigate the roads mostly at night, but the fact that I am the one who dominates me, my heart is filled with so many broken pieces that I can't free love, and those who cut my wound, while I know their existence.
The wind without trash:
There is no one to ask, no one to follow.
I'm falling for love from the spelling mistake.
When I say I melt like a candle, I multiply.
Like climate from climates, mom, and that endless construction inside me.
My foundation is solid, thank God, if my subjects are like a forgotten flower in the genealogy of feelings and hope and love, and how I still bear what life has suffered as much as I can't forget, my love for myself and you grows day by day.
My interlocutor is the universe, where I am sometimes left alone.
My struggle continues without slowing down, and I am the inventor, and I gnaw at myself as the season gnaws at me like maybe a sour-faced quince.
Flatfoot sometimes my poems…
My dreams have no wheels, they are hidden in the universe full of mother and father, my sadness, my joy, and the happiness that I suspend is actually you, my mother, as long as a stone does not touch your feet, and now I am writing the story of happiness.
The foreword is my grind of the day and the cursor is the brace…
Now the mystery, longing and love have emerged when the law enforcement force was the longing and you I can't get enough of: ah, hunger, what is my mother, besides, I proved your age, you are there until my dead soul breathes, as long as your smile does not fade from my throat...
The square root of the hijab is some human and cruel, and your poem about the hour of Ashraf has arrived, as long as it is; You have frown frowns, frown at me many times like a little child.
Is it the survival of your life?
Is it that I'm left behind or that hasn't been missing since my childhood?
And I'm counting from left to right mom and know that you are my best man, you are most hidden on my left and in my moist eyes, sometimes sadness, sometimes mystery, usually you are my mother, your words.
If it is a color that surrounds my soul and here I am at the bottleneck of the world:
Sometimes I am burdened.
What is your life to enjoy yourself?
No, I do not have my eyes on the property, but my eyes are on the highest office:
I'm only after guidance and your prayers should not be missing...
Its cross-stitch is in my heart knitted last year.
Of course, I will follow the oppressor and black reproaches and the demon who go to my power in the way of God, your faith and mercy.
You are the one who teaches my religion.
You are the one who advises, the mother who teaches you to protect your dignity in order to survive.
I'm a thousand years old, but like a one-year-old baby growing in your bosom.
The ruminant dark?
Is it the betrayal of someone who grinds the day?
Sacrifice for my country, my dear, my Lord, and you, my mother.
The day moved, besides, on the last day of the year, it crawled and crawled on the ground and it was me, your unhappiness, whose heart was flowing, sometimes reflected on me.
What is the body in the eyes of my mad soul?
I can't fit in, I can't fit this love and love and longing and longing for many things and people, even if they are not with me, but you, you?
The climates are cool.
The weather is cloudy or cloudy.
As long as you don't close your eyes, a huge love that I'm captive to, for the sake of God, I didn't love both you and the universe?
Screams are like a prickling thorn sometimes.
You are my sky, my heart is rich and the first step of honor and to protect, you are my name and my innocence, this pendulum is your life and your heart...
Her skin is the same as the sky and the color of her eyes.
My captivity to existence and love is superior to the child in me and yes, while I am still a child, especially when I grew up with your breath and the beauty of raising, I am chasing after the love and here is the devil loaded with regret, and far away as long as I am blessed with every emotion I know, you and my love of God and my faith power that I benefit from.
The smell of the earth attracts me.
The smell of the soil magnifies my love for the country.
While it is hidden in your graceful hands, I know of course that I will not return from this road and that I will not return from this road, and with God's permission, all the sorrows and regrets are there.
My loneliness.
Sometimes I am full, sometimes I am your star, sometimes your flower.
What is obligatory is your existence and I never feel hunger when I can't get enough of you. Let people know weakness, while every word that comes out of my mouth carries fairness and truth.
I fear a God, I am the growing breeze of Divine Love and here I am running to my Lord.
If taught, I am proud of my unending hope and love, my fondness for colors, my cheeks that sometimes turn pink, and most of all, hidden in my shining eyes, is your beautiful existence.
My loneliness, though pompous, my mother…
While living and loving in this world, I just loved people impartially and I accepted my destiny and I thank my Lord for giving my sustenance; Not a single haram bite passed through my throat.
The sound of your voice, the sound of your love, the gentle breeze of your love, the only person who reflects from you and loves me unconditionally...
