And
when the eyes come back
to shed tears,
I hope
it’s not a cry of remorse,
nor to let go.

But in the meantime
we must be content,
I say, to be misunderstood for a while.
We are all very anxious to be understood,
and it is very hard not to be.
But there is one thing much more necessary;
to understand other people.

If one day
you find me
not only as a poem
that you really love
and you don't care
who the author is,
I'll be happy.

You are not only the reader
I've been searching for,
but also as an eternal lover
in every words
I will tell you more.

I wake up at 1 a.m
There is nothing
This room is full of darkness
The light only leaves a little body for me,
for sure she is very ****, pure, and touches my eyes softly
The windows open
The wind blows my hair
I lit my last cigarette
This room is still full of darkness
I look around
I look outside from my window
The trees are too tall to see the tops
Too cold
Too quiet
Too heavy to every breath
This is the time that I love
When the night comes to my soul
I think this night is so scary,
But nothing is scarier than the thought itself,
It is so strong and real
Be ****!
I forget to buy cigarette stock for tomorrow
I **** myself
I **** nothing

We may see a love like this
When I see your smile through my eyes
But you see me cry from other ways

Sunrise is so gold.
  The path I take can be hold.
  The future is mine.

The crowd always controls you
and you will feel lonely
because you do not know who you are.

"What is your favorite song?", I asked you.

"What is your favorite love story?", I asked myself.

"What is yours?", the question asked herself.

"I am yours", the answers answered their will.

Even,
nothing is more important
instead of dropping the body on the bed
just to know yourself
with dreams too high.

Like dead leaves,
and shadows,
and all the things we find each other
in our heads.

A little light and pretend to forget.
A little disappointed, still not gone.
Then stare into nothingness,
and remember you
for every eternity.

What we need
just a swarm of explosions
which is enough for us to always measure
and then compare.

It turns out
words just to be taught,
then propped up
until death.
Fall.
Then we hug again.

Some nights are wild,
and you must be calm.

I will be forgotten
and I am waiting for it.
At first, you realized it
or in the last, you knew about it.
The time that brought you to grow
always explained to you that the suffering seems like the voices you can’t hold.
I will be forgotten
and you knew that I am waiting for it.
You tried to tell me about it.
But at first, I decided to be calm in every moment I can do.
The wind that blows.
The sun that always let me glows.
It will be remembered.
but I will still be forgotten.
The story that told you in every book you love just leave me memories.
That’s a gift so I had to keep them as I had many glories.
I will be forgotten.
All I wish I could do is only tell you
so it will be remembered.

I will stand up to support Palestine
Until whenever
Wherever I am
As long as colonialism still exists
I will fight for their freedom
Palestine must be independent
Palestine must be free
Eliminate all forms of colonialism
We all have the right to freedom
In our homeland
For peace
For humanity
For life

Don't put withered flowers
in your cracked vase.

The night will be true
for the star and the moonlight
and I get you too.

A young lady die--
I get cries of words.
You are the next heroine!

Sometimes,
things are so hard to do
because we never try to start.
Prefixes
are always important
for finding patterns.
Like writing poetry.
Yes,
I have sat alone
in front of  the paper
on the table
many times
with a pen.
I thought about
what I really needed to do first;
beautiful words with parables.
I've been sitting for hours,
walking here and there,
then sit back down again
to finish composing a poem.
But I've never finished it
until now.

I imagine the moon tonight like a poem hanging in your eyes.
    Then touch the heart of the dead
    words.
    It's so beautiful!

A lion king goes to the crowd alone.
He needs a friend to live together.
But they don't want to be his friend because they are afraid of his hair and his knowledge.

I stood in front of the mirror again,
see a sad face,
looking for where to be happy.
I'm looking for myself,
maybe lost among the piles of books,
I want to find it among the quotes on my favorite novel,
which I borrowed from you.
I looked for it again yesterday.
But I lost you today.
Turns out we still need to write a story,
but not to write love,
any of them.

Young bird learns to fly
By spreading his wings widely
His lungs get relax

The letter
I've sent to you last day,
I realized
it won't be read by you.
You've gone from the words
I wrote to.

The letter
I've sent to you last day,
I realized
it won't be read by you.
I never try to write my feeling for,
because there is nothing to write for.

Every poet takes his own lonely path to compose poetry.

Will you remain silent
when you see the many children
who died as a result of the genocide bomb explosions that occurred in Palestine?

Are we just spectators
and consuming this heartbreaking news?

Can we imagine this happening to our family,
our relatives,
those closest to us,
even our country
and our homeland?

Do we really care about humanity?
Do we think that we are nothing
so we cannot change everything,
including eliminating the oppression
that is happening there?

Do we really think like that?
Is that a decent life for all humans?
Don't they also have freedom?
Are we all this?
Please vote, free Palestine!
Free Palestine as we bias ourselves
for a better life,
for a more peaceful life,
for humanity
And for world peace.

I catch the dust
Flying it up on the paper
Getting throw to be fast
Let it go then after

I draw my feel
Being good on the sketch book
Painting its to be so real
But nobody wants to look

I see myself
In the middle of the sky
Trying to go down
And never try to fly

A man
smoking alone
in his room.
The clock
keeps watching
and singing all night.
You can feel them
and try to ignore them.

Let me hear the voice of you.
Writing on my page.
I text it to be true.
But that message is underage.

I take some paper.
Folding it to be a pain.
Flying crash it upper.
Still trying to stand again.

I walk on the street.
Looking for you there.
The path gives me more breathe.
Smells of you are the things of rare .

I finish my little journey.
So I can take a rest.
You choose me as a honey.
Vibrating on my chest.

Tell me your favorite song,
I will probably listen to it many times, even if I don't like it.
Just mention one by one,
I will make them my favorite playlist.
I've been listening to everything since the first time I met you.
Look,
here,
where I will play it all as a lullaby,
or a string of words that is now a magic and grows in my head.
I will make it a favorite song.
Just count it, I'll start it.
One.
Two.
Three.
I already like it.

And now your favorite song is mine.

Live with expectations.
Dreams get higher but never come true.
People give a lot of motivation and provide solutions.
Some say to dream as high as possible. Some say live as realistic as it is.
Some say keep trying and never give up.
Some say love yourself now as it is.
Some are silent.
Some talk a lot.
Some don't care who you are.
There are those who need each other. There are those who help each other. There are those who choose.
Some volunteered.
Some write poetry, but get nothing.
There is me among them.

I talked to the moon about its light.
I could not see it tonight.
The moon said there are no light for tonight.
Because the stars were stolen.
And the moon felt alone.
And I should be gone.
Falling from the night sky down.

Please say my name
and you will remember me again.
I don't want you
to be far from me
like children who are starting
to grow up and forget
their little memories
of running away
from the falling rain
like adults.

I may let the rain fall today
so I can take you out from away.
We will walk slowly
because we just have an umbrella
to share each other.
The more you run away,
the more you get your body wet.
Close your eyes
and hold me tight.
Everything will be won by fight.

If I can still express all the feelings
I'm experiencing through words,
it's a sign that I'm still alive.

When our love
that we want to
doesn't have
another season,
I wish
I would not
leave this heart
with crying anymore.

People are not happy, so am I.
When you feel you have a great and wonderful life,
they tell you that you don't,
and ruin your day become a part.

You have to grow with a **** life
and people who are not happy always arounds you.
They are you sometimes in others.

You can't be changed by people.
But they always go wherever you go.

People are not happy, so am I.
A modern society life wants you to be like them.
But you are not people who are not happy,
so am I.

When I kissed your lips for the first time,
souls unite and vibrate in the crown of the head.
Our world cries out just to be owned by the two of us.

The wind that had brought the news then stopped,
looked at the two pairs of eyes that were not mutually exclusive,
traced the area making out intimately,
put on a stunned body.

The air that warms the body turns the sweat cold,
the heart races as if we are being chased by danger;
so fast, and great.

The light touches our eyes gently, beautifully, and so enchantingly; relieves every pain,
burns every bitter taste.

I kissed those lips for the first time.
And the birds chirping from afar sounded more melodious adorning the ears,
making ornaments on every scale.
And trauma turns into the experiences we've been looking for, during the transition from adolescence to adulthood.

I kissed those lips,
feeling relieved and happy afterward.
But now those lips had kissed someone else's,
and I'm sure everyone had witnessed the memories.

I even read
your famous poems
that many people
have read.

I even read
it many times
and got lost
in it.

I even thought
I might
easily remember
all the titles
of your poems
in every word
and I have also
been able to
understand it
little by little.

I even started
writing poetry
for myself.

I even sat
for a long time
just to think of words.

I even want
to be like you
or maybe more.

“Am I enough
to be able to achieve
what you once
achieved?”,
I tell you
in front of
these poems
of mine.

“I want to be myself”,
he told me in this poem
now you're
reading.

I want to take a closer look at the star in the night sky full of light, how it still shines bright enough even though it is thousands of miles away from my eyes.

I sometimes want to be that star, so that one day when you go far and get lost you will find me there, or maybe will see me, and I will always see you from here.

I want you to still like the light, even though sometimes the dimness doesn't always end up disappearing.

One day, somehow
your name will sound again
and my name makes you feel
become abstruse.

Often,
time is not the answer
which we have been looking for.

You may have received
something that was once foreign to you.
I now have to
to be stranger
and accept it.

We have agreed to marry.
You marry the person you feel is right for you.
I married loneliness
which I feel will never be right
and that you have given me.

You are now busy at work.
I'm busy loving now
scenes
now
never again

there is.

I still remember every kisses
she gave to me at the night
fall into my bed
dark with little light
burn it with some delight.

That's a good day for me
because she still believes in nothing.

I burn my cigarette at the same time
before her lips and mine collide in the bad time.

I still remember every kisses she gave to me,
but she doesn't remember that night.

That time has finished me,
but there is no victory.

You are loved,
even by yourself.

My favourite book has lost its words
So have you, my favourite place
Which is hard to ask where you are

Now I know
You’re flying high
Take my scars
Our feelings blow into the wind
Sometimes
I wish one day I could take your hand
Walk in the strange path that nobody sees it
I want to say
That you are always mine
As you’ve loved me
As you've loved me

I believe
I can be
What I want to be
So I stop

Can I feel you?
I can not feel myself.
Can I love you?
I can not love myself.
Can I get you mine?
I can not get myself.
You are in a bad emotional, I said.

Yes, I am myself

I love the way you do not love me.
But I hate the way you go and never tell me that you always love me by your side.

She stole my poem,
and so did my heart.
She stole my love
and made days full of open wounds.
She came back,
complaining that she couldn't spell
the words I had written to her in my poem, "how this love is so silent?"