Dream climates.
My loved ones hidden in my maverick heart on an imaginary plane, and here is my color and even my mourning that I accept.
I hide before the day of my recourse. I can make thousands of sentences to signify the hope that I shoveled before the dawn.
Ah, when the winds blow in my mind.
Ah, the floods have taken my heart while dragging it.
While that tulle curtain flying in my heart that I was dragging was my healing, prayers and my pen and windmill singing in many levels of love, of course, I used to say when the traveler was on the side of the sadness that remained in my heart.
Guidance is my rank, but my pure love for humanity, which I questioned before, is the meaning of loving the created because of the Creator.
It is a drink, sometimes the Divine path and pure medium that I woven with my emotions and poems on butterfly wings, and my genealogy is reflected in the day when I worship.
I am the moonlight.
I am pure pure.
Would you like to wear your sadness, and I torment myself with my gloom of the sky, where I climbed thousands of steps and floors that I still could not overcome, and sometimes with my joyful heart, with many flowers blooming and fading in my heart, and with the thorns hidden in my name.
Clouds are blue.
I also like black, before mercy, and it is my Lord who loves my sad heart the most, I know that when I find solace, I am stationed before the mercy that manifests, sometimes dark, sometimes bright clouds, and here the downpour began.
Half of the sky overflowing from the heart.
A summer night when the sky is pierced.
While I was cold, I opened my heart to my Lord and guardian angels in the presence of the pain hidden in the breath of the night.
Whatever is calm, peace moves.
The connection of my heart is the buttons that sometimes break, and both of my collars could not come together, but I had already reached the third collar.
If it's a seizure, it's time.
One point is the only speck I have.
The publication of love is the success of friendship and love.
The one thing that overflows from my heart.
Whatever the positive negative is, dripping from what I wrote.
As repetitive.
Hidden in its identity is my life, my grief, and every eye falling out with my age, which actually catches my eye and sometimes escapes me.
What is the meaning of your life and the confluence it contains, and here I fell again on a summer night to love and longing.
Dominating fate.
Out of homage to love, oh overflowing from my heart, I took my late paper from the competent authority and presented my excuse because I had stayed on the steps of the dome and here as much as I had been on the steps of the dome as Hafiz and I swayed with my student ID.
Words are the words that circulate in my veins and who have always been close to me since the first day I was loved and loved by me, protecting and guarding the goodwill and sincerity in me even before my jugular vein.
Where is my place?
My reason is reserved in the sight of God.
And when my strength is gone, the power and enthusiasm that comes from the absence that accompanies it from time to time and suddenly is of course the victory of love and hope, what is what I wrote in the dance with my words besides my feelings that do not fit in my heart?
What I add is that mercy and fear of God are hidden in the virtue of living without making mistakes, while my peace and conscience are as light as a feather.
My heart is like a bird.
What I am gloating is that I am engaged in living with love and mercy, and love silently, and if I am to comment on my humanity with the feelings that I can't get in the way of my life and the peace of purely serving my Lord, then accepting a little bit of life in the world, come see that your mercy and guidance will not be my way.
You who know me.
You are a friend of God whom I feel close to with your faithful soul to my Lord.
The colors are white and shy, sometimes pink and blue, and in the unmatched enthusiasm of hope, did I add my patience to the elimination.
My sadness ship.
It's my season.
Respecting the dominating fate.
What is my meal, hafiz?
It's like I don't have to.
It's new to me.
It is not a lie that I envy the horses of the yearkı with the longing and longing of feeling love properly, but mostly to myself.
And if I imitate, I know that there will be no return from this road, accompanied by the happy days of yesterday and the light pouring on my smiling face.
I'm running, running to my Lord.
He and the boat of hope are the only ones who take care of my sheltered world.
My edict is written in my destiny and I am its sacrifice, I swing on the fringes of love and hope.
Ah, that wind that blew me away.
Ah, that influence is the one that calls spring in my garden.
Every evocative word and feeling and the dirt of my hand.
Did I touch the broken plectrum in my lines while I was living and loving without fear and with the pain on my face?
My identity is hidden in the qibla of living without hypocrisy.
What I deserve is waiting for me, and have I not always been content with my waiting fate?
While I love as much as I am ashamed and in order not to lose the sparkle in my eyes, of course, love is the master of my head in the mechanism called the world, which knocks down even sad mountains and where Divine Love is the only medicine.
