A hand stretched out in a dream planted next to my heart another heart since that dream and I love you with both hearts.

So she folds her soul in despair and puts on people the garment of pleasure.

I hope that God will look into my matter and make me a mole on your body.

What I know destroys what I want.

What I see tells me that I am blind.

An appeal to happiness

O mist of transparent scent
Oh, infinite beauty
Oh fragrant companion on the banks
He is not aware of its existence

Where do you greet? in thickets of clouds
Where does the imagination reach?
Or do you wander in the seas of stars?
A boat following camels?

Let your long hair down the chandelier
Tufts of silk
And lighten its cloudy blonde
The forest is drowned in aroma

And remove your eyelashes
About two eyeballs legends
The fullness of their colors is the rush of life
And the unions of two planets

O forehead full of meanings
Clouds obscured his magic
O beauty drunk with melodies
Cheeks of the stars

From the fog of visions to us, to us
Before we leave
Spread your tender shadow on us
Your beautiful warm shade

We are going in the morning
before emptying the cups
And worms stirred in every land
Still digging the worms

And behind the fence an owl croaked
His eyes filled with riddles
An ominous echo resounded in his voice
without knowing life

And deep stillness fills existence
static observing life
He feeds with every happy melody
His perfume touched the lips

And the flowers of the fields hold a secret
The seed of death and wilting
A moment in the morning dripping perfume
Then the ephemerals pass by

And the cups of fragrant passion are watering
Honey love two moments
Then the nectar disappears and remains
There are two branches in the mouth of the cup

And trembling shadows over the streams
Twilight will pass him by
And the beauty that shades the horizons
Maybe it's insomnia

And the chants may resonate
moments in the morning
And the flowers of the meadows are the age of their fragrance
Nothing is left of the wind

We live in a world of shadows
Fleeting, cobweb
Like birds in the spring of varicose veins
We sing to die

So give us your vision before leaving
O daughter of love and imagination
A moment at your sweet spring
We wash away sadness with beauty

May we drink from the nectar of your eyes
Thirst of the soul and lips
And at the crossroads of your shores we cast
The burden of what encouraged life

May we build with the blueness of your eyes
Sky again
May we sing with the blondeness of your hair
The power of the night and singing

Oh, stretch out your hands, stretch out your hands
Everything here is lost
And the radiance of bliss from your lips
How do we keep it for spring?

And here the stars set and wither
In the dark, the moon dances
And the cups of flowers in the field are falling
This is how fate rules

In the dark reefs we keep walking
Where, uh, are you running?
Where is your mercury palace?
Whenever he could see?

Fim, like water in the desert sands,
Moments and get tired?
Like a crescent moon, like flowers,
Like fantasies

And your arms poison me
When do you fill the cups?
Every cup contains a drop of concern
The ecstasy of souls mixed

Every color lives behind its serenity
Darkness eats beauty
Every love includes behind its elevation
The seed of death and demise

Go down, song of our dreamers
From your supplier
And wipe once again the echo of our thirsty
In the darkness of a lost tomorrow

And we will build white temples here
On a land of hope
She washed her broad wide chest
I cry despair and misery

May we once taste your aroma
After this long secret
And the thirsty lips of your witness
Touch the beautiful kawthar.

Poetry saved me many times from the dangerous edges that I love to stand on, it saved me from blindness, from crying over the corpses of a dream. Trapped by nostalgia for the blue skies, obsessed with being lost, and delirious with death, my heart was like an open text to the seas. Death did not negate, it was only possible. Poetry saved me many times. Poetry bandaged my wounds. Instead of my pale smiles with a few stars, he was a good companion who never tired of listening. And when I returned from dream towns, I returned empty, without clouds, without secrets. Although the night remains, despite the loss of our homes, poetry teaches me forgiveness for those who insist on remaining in death. It embraces my disappointments and extends the trees. There is a truth that I know as I know a dream. Light is precipitating, and there are no vocabulary here.

Wing of the long nights, be my home and the book that is not printed, be in the cafes of lovers a tea session, and in the lips of the one I love: cracklings and trembling, be, O wing of the long nights, we protect, the pole has lost the star of guidance, but my distant family is still waiting for me.

A strange bird above my window I call him, Vedun. It rotates on my lap, and I touch it, and it becomes a stone in my hand, and a live coal is plucked from me, and its wing twitches.

My God: I can't find anyone to talk to except you tonight. You see my loneliness, the loneliness of a nest in a burning forest.

Everything is appropriate; create whatever you want - the present tense is past, and what was not was, and the unseen is sense, and turbulent like a cloud. It is love that reveals your sunshine in your protruding wrinkles.

All roads are barriers to our future. Prisoners overlooking an exile with waves that have no waves, fear transmitted by the mirror.

The silence in the house touches the infinite. I hear time fall, drop by drop. As fluid worlds cross me, I penetrate time through silence. Your silence is tired herds.

In the evening I turn off the lights I light two candles or my fingers. Sometimes wandering spirits flow from me. The streets are full of cats with many lives. And dogs that heal humans. What should we do in this night? Do we go around the city killing for fancy fun, setting the rotten city on fire? Mustiness fills the city, filthy streets, agony everywhere, skulls full of holes filled with lies and wind, genitals hanging here and there in musty spaces and rooms, nudity for quick masturbation, no one smells the putridness of death. Floods to clean the cities of the dead, without the sense of smell.

I do not want anything from the world, but the hole in my soul if someone does not put a rose in it; You will become a gun.

Happiness is to expose you to loss. What's the anniversary You are in someone's dream. What love? Do not hear or see. What is sadness? To remain alone and blind in love. The lover is the most silent. What is the sea? Dream. What's wrong? You have awakened a ship sinking into oblivion. Who is closest? The stranger.

I sit in front of the mirror, in an arduous exercise to remove the smell left by my lips on my neck, and although I do not need to document the sadness, I do not fail to count my tears that I dropped in the wastebasket, and I see my eyes more beautiful than my imaginings of them and I think that understanding is more beautiful than forgiveness and that I was with you on a journey to a holy place.

He was sitting on chairs that he imagined were what human forms ended up in, waiting for a long time in his memory.

It is another sleepless night, a battlefield that has become familiar, and where the desire for victory is no more and no less burning than the desire for defeat.

We, the defenseless villagers, when we find no room for the shepherds, look at the flute as a memory of the cane.

Every hand, every hand that hears in its palm, your eyes fall into mine. Every alabaster, every alabaster echoes my prayer to you.

I did not fear, while you were living in my bowels, that every remote vinegar would become away from me, for people are two, one whom I adore and the other whom I did not count among the living.