The courtyard was clear and the wind was coming and the blood was flowing in the silence of the two men The lonely room is pure, for thought, what simple dimensions I have I dont dream of sleeping Set by the window and sitting in a soft chair
still in my journey, I think in the waters of the world, in the waters of the world. I read and go Where did you travel, where the badge will remain unfinished and the shoe strap will open to your soft fingers Where is the place to reach and widen a carpet and listen to the sound of washing a container under the adjacent milk This
Where is the life of life Life, the colorful neglect of Eve, you look at the cow and the lawn, the mind was in the wind You looked at the Shatwots reminder on the seasons skin The green presence of the clover, the face scratches of the face, the face of the face, always the face Hands on our shoulder and we will heat his bright fingers San Poison Guevara by the incident Venice remembers you and on the quiet transit in that rusty and ground argument The time of the charter has to be seen To clean the golden face of death
I come from the vicinity of a tree I wrote the simple hands of the homeland I wrote to the memory of the nostalgia
Wine, you have to accelerate I come from a tour, in an epic I am in the field of water I stood up to my heart The voice came in and when it opened I fell from the invasion of the truth and again under the psalm sky on the journey that I woke up to the Babylonian River The sound was silent and good, I was crying. The side of the silent curtain pointed to the prophet Jeremiah and I read a loud book on the community and a few Lebanese farmers sitting under the ancient cedar citched their trees in mind The Iraqi blind children were looking at Hammurabis Tablet And the black and smell of oil and on the soil, the empty glass, the instinct grooves, and the shadows were the opportunity to work.
