It is as if it is made of silk and sataneh, the diameter of tears in the middle of the railway, the joy of military leave, the form of slipping and becoming a poet, as if from the old material, your eye is the story of the leaves and breeze of your eyes, the lost photos are brown, the pigeon of Allah, your eye is afraid of your eyes like returning three people, before the poets who said that one falls out of breath, like going to the bottom of the head , the best place to get lost, better than any curtain. The painting is my own owner , he has stayed on his feet until dawn, he is fine, the photos of the thirteenth of Badr are like a memorable song, a happy love like a prayer , like returning a lesson, three people are afraid of your eyes, in front of the poets who said that a person falls
