I have come to the shrine of your pampered eyes, to look at me, to sit on my knees in the evening, to pray for the purity of the chest, deep repentance is like the sea, the color of your eyes is like the night, for every sight again, the song of dreams sings, the song of dreams, the smell of your perfume is like roses in the shrine with me, wherever they go, they witness my heavy sorrows, these two eyes of the shrine, the eyes of the shrine are the story of my world , an excuse for all my words, like a memory, a hadith. Dumb is the power to say all my poems
