What I said impossible in life became a reality

I collect dead leaves in a frozen garden in the frost of the soul. Every autumn he comes to the city early, with half women and men after him. I see children walking barefoot in the streets.

Hungry pigeons…

A quiet breeze blows her hair in the stillness of the evening…

Her feet are also bare…

The cars with bright red headlights, the moon in the night, the pain full of charcoal hitting the sea, the birds dancing in the sunset, the gray inviolability of the boulevards, the city with its illuminated signs, closing the day and the curtain In the scene that opens, the day gives way to night.

It looks like a vagrant, empty, aimless knife that has never been used in the generation of time.

Every woman, every man, for some reason, becomes his own draft in the evening hours, which is preparing for the night.

I remember the candle flowers in our living room. I snuggle with azaleas on the balcony.

There is a moment I multiply like an avalanche.

There is a moment when I am missing, as if dirham disappears.

What were what?

What we call impossible is in life.

Then what we thought was impossible became a reality.

However, nothing is impossible,

We just wanted it to happen right away...

Which seed was planted in one day...

Everything was a matter of time.

Do you understand the mind and patience in time?

Sometimes when I run to myself,

Sometimes I quickly run away from myself.

Write one side of me, frosty frosty side of my side,

I have an inside that I can't get out of, that suffocates me.

How nice would it be now

Quietly shut the door of my mind.

I drink without informing,

Barefoot running.

Anywhere I can't find myself.

Rock candy in my pockets

My black apron and my white collar.

Whiter than the whites that fall into my hair.

Where I'm going to misbehave

Life will not punish

Why anyone? He won't ask why.

just my heart and me

Just like in my childhood

Making my mind blow.

Without considering the next moment.

With sheer innocence

Just to be me.

The mirror breaks, cracks in my anger that I turn into longing.

We are raising our mothers with their longing, the rooms of our hearts smell damp, we breathe with their breath and kiss the world from their most fragile places, our hands are united.

We are humming songs in our kitchens in order to create continents from the threads of lives that are far from death, to knit sweaters, to look at our black and white televisions as our eyes, just so that the chimneys of those houses will smoke...