I grasped the pain of Iraq and hid it with my hands and here I am.
If words scare potions and people, why do they love them so much? Longing for love was, of course, a starless night, whereas I am a star and the world that forgets to smile at people.
Ayan cry and silence announcement; hastily disappeared in the discourse of sharing.
But I didn’t die and I was in pain.
The validity of the identity of my dreams is not over, it is very different from foreigners working in the wasteland of a sphere in Iraq.
I love the abstract vortex of the handwritten handwritten plan and my abstract perceptions of intersection from the heart of blue, but people in the world could not read it.
The prophecy that I betrayed in my beliefs and betrayed my poems is the relative syllable of happiness in the dead body, sometimes I did not laugh, sometimes I make love.
My treasure is hidden in my dead soil, your heart is flowing from left to right.
Some hypocritical words of Yeis were shaken, and when I accompanied a dark conversation, he accompanied my Lord.
Sometimes the death of the night and the murmur of my mother in the eyes of the night are not eyes, song songs, I forgot the pain of those who had to make concessions.
Stories hidden in the mihrab diary and the beautiful fairy tale I keep; pencil in love band; The miracle of the language of love in my heart when I am a love diary under Kerem’s control.