My miserable diary and my miserable life story dating back to my childhood

I'm cautious now while weaving life with dreams.

To hell with all teachings.

Silence and nightmares were my counterparts, whereas enthusiasm and dreams were of course a large-scale window sill, the words that oscillated while the veil of love.

I cured the day with Divine Love and dream brokers...

I am the lonely and pink rose of the steppe.

Thousands of pieces falling from my smiling face and everyone I give credit to is fine, but where am I, where am I?

How many centuries have left the refrain of this song in my heart and in my ear?

What I write is a gigantic full-length mirror and I am hidden in the oscillation of my moving soul and my meaning and the flirtatious wind.

Every prayer time when I feel peace and that long contract that I put my signature under.

Really, where is my mind stuck, where am I coming from and where am I going?

The dilemma of my soul and my emotions in clusters: a greying bundle of grief and my burden is the firmament, then I am on the right path: sails are hoisted.

The artery of love and the altitude of loneliness, and my copula is broken and my blossom has not yet bloomed and my heart has not yet faded and will not fade.

My words are your abode.

All my loved ones I keep my eyes on.

The promenade is the white page and I am having a picnic with the ink stain I spread on the white cloth.

The crazy wind and my pen and mercy.

My prayers and dreams and all the facts that appear with their reasons.

The gloomy spirit of the season is the cook.

I just came from outside and I was not cooked in the heat, maybe it was not the place where I should be cooked, but the place I came from, of course, I put my soul in the oven, and soon page by page sentences will be cooked and my soul will turn pink, of course, roses will bloom on my face, and here I am complete.

I kicked out the day.

And the night is in my bosom.

Love was the trap I fell into:

The settlement of love and while I peep the universe with love, sometimes from a bird's eye view, sometimes I swim deeply, and it is not those who read fairy tales, but my childish heart and my childish diary and my childish love, the emotions mixed with love and the words that are reinforced, and I am about to overcome my fear with the dominant emotions, and soon I will go to the top and I will leave myself in the void:

Neither death nor birth.

Neither late nor early.

Miraculous whispers are hidden at the highest altitude and light is raining down on me.

Is it what I am nourished or is it the feelings gushing out of my heart that are re-greening on these pages where I eliminate my desolation, and even though I am under reproach, with the confidence of being the sun for a lifetime, it is not plastered with clay, with the permission of the Lord.

I am necessarily in the footsteps of the Lord.

The content hidden in my secret is the content of my soul and the lever of my emotions.

Sometimes Roman numerals play collapse.

And the words dance.

I grumble and mock the bewildered child in me and the foaming waves and the life vest I put on my soul, of course, while the ocean I jumped into without knowing how to swim is a request hidden in the honour of writing a request and a lifetime while I only asked Him.

A seasonal offensive, perhaps vigilance.

The intricacies in my soul.

And my appetite is good...

The storm that breaks in a sip of water and in the mystery of my nature, I am resistant to hunger and I train my soul and body with hunger, moreover, my miserable day, whose story dates back to my childhood, my miserable life story and my inner voice that I necessarily agree with, although it is debatable whether I have a worthy victory in my struggle with myself or not, but there is nothing like living and loving properly...

My ravaged heart.

My sub-memory that I give instructions.

I am a notarised rainbow of emotions, the words I wear on the sash on my waist and my other name hidden in my dog tags, of course, whatever I wish for, how it finds acceptance in the sight of God.

If sadness is the slap of the madman soul.

If it is sadness, I am startled.

How many thoughts confirmed by my feelings and how many miracles that occur, which I sweat in the frost of winter and chill in the heat of summer, as long as He says "be" and makes every dream of mine come true with my loaded expectation, as well as the peace that I am entitled to as much as I am aware of, I run only to my Lord with my helplessness and belongingness of being a speck of sand oscillating at the most sublime altitude where I perch in the breeze of the Divine Wind that necessarily accompanies me in every prayer time...