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  • Post last modified:September 13, 2018
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Speed ​​and slow chaos

The speed and slowness of the chaos is the happy life that the departed look at in the image of the body. Perhaps this is how the other person would make you a slave without the Creator, who is robbed of freedom and dignity. You can not get out of him like a black turbidity that does not drink or smell.
There is no need for slow death I know who you will be the immortal silence of the existence burdened with the superstitions of the past sad sad mournful bouncy It is a night after which only the sadness that is painted in the burning homeland Mafia speech when the meaning of victory remains the quality of words in the image of the past reduced A scene of the blood of Laylat al-Qadr where the worshipers sit behind the front until the morning without sleep or drunkenness.
She said to me, when we drank alcohol in the first way, why do you pray and drink wine until morning, and I answered that I am in Paradise now that I have lived life ten years ago and in Paradise a river of wine is a pleasure for drinkers
 She said crazy, she is the minimum
I answered her not, and God, she killed psychologically when she betrayed me the first time was so terrible to the degree of separation
She said I said before that you are crazy, I do not know who ten years ago did not know you, we know each other a week ago
Are you not the one who painted the night from the first? Are you not one of the books of the myth of death?
She said, “I do not understand your words. A path may have been played by the stream in the deep valley.”
I said, I am in the saddest Artawi bread perhaps the years of the night Istini image is the beauty of my heart that has become like a stone does not love but dead is painted Ash in my eyes until I became talk about the image of polytheism is my kiss in atheism when I did not know of religion but its name it The black love forbidden in the land Desert mirage It is a star in the lap of a friend wrote himself the hostility of treachery that is not destroyed It is a night I think it is an eclipse in the Hijra did not notice the absence of rain but thunder from behind the thunder and lightning If you know the extent of love in the best words What I said to me I said what Asala said at the beginning, you crazy is not Leila.
She said maybe grape juice with alcohol drew the eyes, so it is possible that her love was only the myth in the time of fire and the delayed fire.
Thus the sun shone behind creativity, so the words were painted only longing in nostalgia, the hand of the owner, except death, immersed in every spot that sees how many times we take to understand the meaning in the picture behind a painting that has not been destroyed, but the scars of his eyes draw a sacrifice and write in the branch at the beginning, But the Khumara did not respond to the young people and did not erase the image of the traitor, the fraudster. It is the legend in its painstaking branches. Pain is drawn because the drawings are the source of knowledge, but our covenant did not amount to pain, so the glory of glory was engraved and lost in the alley of scourge, hidden behind the stars of the chandelier waiting for its glory distributed in the ten bottles of Ashura. To him, but hope of his creator one day.
The conflict does not end as it is written, but nevertheless the war that was drawn by the countries that are not called their names, as it is part of the reality that is reduced by death in the ribs of life is not stronger than the movement. The hostility that symbolizes madness is to write again that the resurrection towards the back is part of The longing that does not tame in the cough of exile towards no exile, that it is raised writing towards the back that we do not root for forgetting because in the end we write suicide every minute and so is the mobile every day I live in this spot of the land called the mobile approached the gallows.
Every day I live in the rode is an additional roll of the rope that surrounds my nose and a journey of suicide from time to time of living in a spot that makes death part of life until the hatred of life is meaningless in the tight rope of the rope It is the image of the delayed death and the meaningless fear of the sea I am free of hatred for anyone who asks me to stay for his own sake. They live to drink from my blood as I drank from my charming blood years ago.
The speed and the slow in the chaos then meaning only meaning to leave, choose the travel you want between the travel of the earth and the travel of heaven.

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