Other people migrated to your heart and you met other hearts

You're a dare I take refuge.

My size is motionless and non-contact.

The jokes are hidden between the lines of what people cannot say: I read from their eyes the subtitle that goes through them, I am neither reproachful nor do I turn my sirens on.

There is no country to which I will go but death.

What I have reached is a prophecy of happiness and the relative shock of love, I am no longer shaken and I do not love you even from afar.

The peninsulas in me?

Or should I have been sentenced to Island?

People with elephant memories.

Feet crushing ants.

My stomach is incredibly hungry.

The forked voice of the sky is calling me, and I am facing a death in the well I fell into and a half-dead life that I chose...

Do you think my lines are brewed?

Or is it because I'm not in trouble, am I making it clear to you now?

Although I openly say that I love you, I know that other bold statements are important in your eyes.

I'm not that brave.

The ignorant courage of my fellow men.

It's not me claiming to be ignorant, they're just revealing one by one: those self-worshipping women and the disgrace of love.

Neither femininity nor maiden pride.

Whichever climate I was, my face was turned towards you for years.

Then this love started.

Then my words spread.

Let the poems come, let the stories come.

Others said what I can't say clearly, but I raised you inside me.

My cellar was cordoned off.

My eyes were blind.

Was it a trump card or what I couldn't tell you?

Did I see you once?

I was about to escape from my cocoon.

My soul is noble.

I'm a nobleman, but what's wrong with you?

While swept away by the rough winds, this heart and all my damage is only to myself.

How many drawers are locked before you.

What about now?

Thousands of lines, hundreds of poems, dozens of stories.

I was promoted from decimal to zero, then fell into the void and reproached love and law enforcement:

"Come and chain my heart."

God did not allow it.

And I made my way with you.

I was going to get off the road when others stepped in.

It's impossible for me to resemble someone.

When I had never been a servant of a god that I imitated.

I'm just imitating myself ten years ago and my unending enthusiasm and sleepless years and school corridors where I grew old.

What did I dream about last night?

Not you.

How happy I was when I was chatting with a student, at least God grants me this happiness, let me be half dead, while it penetrated the deepest part of my sleep, then the little apocalypse broke out. that the mentally ill neighbor almost destroyed the walls with his stubbornness and hatred.

How happy I was at the bottom of the well.

The absence of you is perhaps what makes me so pessimistic, while my burning skirts and burning leaves of my notebook are stuck to this miserable life like glue, and while selfless people are not falling off me like leeches.

A prisoner of darkness.

On the other hand, I am mostly hidden in the dark and I am happy because the unquenchable enthusiasm inside me is the reason why I pierce the darkness.

My Persian heart.

My temperament and my temperament.

This miserable love has expired when it is full.

Words hidden in the gulf of the heart.

The reign of love is over.

Other people migrated to your heart, you met with other hearts, you and I only tried to be like them once, and I was struck by their soggy love: while they had everything in their life, which is considered love but hangs on with their lack of love.

All I have is impossibility and helplessness.

What well do I draw water from?

Nor what's going on.

What you know and see, but you are angry with me.

While I was quarreling with my sadness, while they came and caused discord with my life, I was harassed even in my temple and I was lost from myself and my dreams with this extraordinary psychological harassment.

When I was bored like a lemon, I put all the neurons in my brain and even my memory at idle capacity to use.