The one I love is like a young man, my love for me, the love of pain remains without pain, the shrine is only his eyes for me, he is like a prophet, oh, his voice is more pleasant than the call to prayer, of purity, of purity , like a flower leaf, of goodness and blessing, that in my journey full of the bread of God and my qibla, he is not his shadow, less than his home in this world, only my heart, he is the only one who is the name of the heart. He burns at night when I go late, he is like June, he
goes to Rome until morning, he goes to dress, people ask me which one he is, where he is, who is like him, I said a thousand times and I write again that his sweet name is June June.
