My soul is exiled from my body like a bird

My dreams...

Neither quiet nor miserable.

My demands are not in favor of what I offer.

I have a flexible body, but when I yawn I don't relax because I feel like a relative string is strangling me.

Whether it's the new year or a new day, I'm stuck in the queue but it just doesn't happen:

My soul is exiled, my body is rigid.

I am full of shame.

My excitement was replaced by delusions.

Is it my temple?

Don't make me laugh, my dear, if I don't, my cell, which acts as a cellar, is too large and spacious though.

However, as if the dead weren't enough, what if the living dead had usurped it, and the place where I lived my inner world was like heaven?

Winter days that pass like autumn.

Flocks of birds that are not missing from the window.

Obviously, the rebels that I have provoked, but similar to what happened to the people of Lot, will happen soon.

I persevere and persevere.

As always, the Creator is cautious and still waiting for them to repent, and I explain it with a shriek, but there is no one who hears or sees, and here they are throwing their sins on top of the blind spot of pain.

The demon that bites the sky, whereas the milk-port I know.

The moving earth and I don't move a mile.

While marked.

On and on me with the shaft pulled.

I'm after the fake bodies and those who love and believe, and bingo!

Again and only to myself.

What I dream of is an auspicious death and the world's population is decreasing day by day, so is my strength.

I don't even have the strength to grow and lengthen shadows, accompanied by all the flamboyant smiles and joyful laughter, I demand freedom from the universe and I'm locked up:

A beginning in my tongue, in my heart.

I've been praying many times.

What a word to enjoy, even the voice of the world is occupied by the disrespectful.

Superstitions maybe.

A geography of endless pain.

Even if a heavy quilt and quilt is gone, the fight does not end.

I am not a lame or ordinary person, in fact, I vouch for many people from time immemorial, but even when they were rotten.

It doesn't even fill the hole of my dream that I breathe.

A current of air drifting outside me and the grave I stepped into.

A painful wait, almost every night.

The melody inside of me that I am chasing a loving voice and its voice is getting lower and lower.

Scaled notes.

Even when private feelings are under the spotlight.

I am neither following the traces of the future nor digging into the secrets of the unknown inside me, a puzzle that I have just solved, many passwords, while it is another name for overcoming the boredom inside me.

Colors are pale.

The highest altitude awaits.

Siren in the starboard heart in my hand and the skirts I dragged.

Sometimes it rains smiles on my head and I am happy, but my happiness changes lanes within minutes, someone who has thrown the circuits intervenes in the situation and while I pride myself on being mortal, this time I feel shame on behalf of others.

Wherever everyone I love, they crush the last lost regulars of my heart and the heaven inside me, although I neither disturb them nor make the slightest request. I am still a student of the universe and nowadays my feet and my dreams go backwards while I try to skip a grade at the school called life.

I am far from the days when I was an inveterate dreamer and I know the truth to the core, even with its justifications.

What's coming of age when you're swimming deep?

If I am not moderate, the minus points are in the eyes of the hypocrites.

Is it that I forgive myself that I run to my Lord?

Not a rebellion, just the execution of something.