Since the day I met poems, I've been hiding your words

With the words of love, when my soul was poetry, I set out on the road.

My love, my enmity with love, the darkness, and yet my sadness hidden in the dark, my Lord, my tears that I shed as poetry by jumping out of my tongue stuck in a syllable by nature.

The sky's overalls of blue.

Your emotions painted black.

In the sometimes thick silence and dominance of the divine being, the fallen leaves of the Divine Wind line up.

In his eyes, it's like the seasons of the universe that are loaded with many prophecies.

The dream keepers prevailed and the truth was swept away, after all, the reason was hope and dream of most of the oppressed: the desire hidden in a passionate sigh and the only loving words accepted by God, while the poet was hastily writing and loving insistently, he was like butterflies flying on his wounded wings, giving thanks even to the pain that dominated that dead end. He does not lose hope of being loved, does not compromise on helpless love, and is patient even for scarce happiness.

The remnant of time gone.

After tomorrow, it's time for earrings.

It is like the sadness that haunts the heart of that bird that does not bend and keeps its head upright even in every dream that is swaddled, while the body of yesterday and the lost is hidden in the horizon of the season, of course, the heart of the bird warms in the breath of the sun in a syllable.

In every poem written while every stroke of beauty and hope is the victory of the poem in which it succumbed to the guilty, of course, what the poet said is confirmed:

While the lines that the poet curled up with, thanks to the enthusiasm and love that he could never get over, without worrying about the flying images and beauties, accompanied every line that sobbed through the veil of the night.

The manifestation of images…

Is it a melancholic look, the season of love, and here is the lyrics of hidden love and Divine Love.

A seasonal vigilance and birds hidden in the sky's trench…

The heart fluttering like a bird and the directive of the words, of course, a dialectical peace, the heart of poetry, the words are temperate, and the love is trembling and cries…

The sky where I was stationed and the clouds I shook hands with and how hope and how my speech was faltering before.

The tail of a huge oratory poem and the mercy that ends the curse.

Bird's eye view is a pain, and I am a wind in the majesty of the world, your smiles and sometimes my frowning words.

You dear poet!

I am at the bottom of the climate and above the flower pot. My life is not painful, poems since the day I met you and I've been hiding your words and here is my rekindled love. so let me tell you from the beginning, it turns out that I was hidden in the nature of the love that I put my head into in my journey with poetry, it turns out that a lifetime and images, my hat, and words are the smile hidden in my tears as much as I renounced love, of course, this path that I put my head into with my name and I think, for the sake of poetry...

Every time you look at the road, of course, it is the Day of Poetry, the impulsive wind of the journey inside me.

My edict is reserved in my power of faith as much as I am my heart and my sadness and my heart and my love and love.

Good Lord, you are the nation of the greats.

My only Lord, you are the one who bestowed on me my heart, my eyes and my pen.

I am hidden in my pen, and while my pen is the plectrum of love, the chip of the heart and the nature and sadness and human and my feelings that I inspire, of course I am a soldier, I am after poems and poetry with a cute smile on my face.