The room has not been swept away , the luggage smells of travel, my tired shoes, at the door in the old frames, the people in the door , the tall mirror in the dust, the picture of the candlestick, in the dust of the mirror
, the crazy branch that is broken in the pond, the nests of the hyenas are disturbed in the wind of autumn that comes from there, it reminds itself of the youth, it leaves it in the mirrors, the
mirror is tall in the dust, and I stand in the mirror, the wind of autumn that comes from that distance, I am from you. The mirror goes out on a journey, on the roads, on the sea, in the desert, in the sea of sand, in the middle of the
scales of the fish, or at the head of the stalk of acacia...
The long journey of a lifetime, the short journey of love, the historical modesty, I take my head out of the mirror, I stay, I stay with our breath , the dust... It goes through the mirror , the suitcase smells of my tired shoes, at the door... In the old cauldron of people... In the midst of people ... In... Badr
