From white sakura in the garden way, had gone the milky odor sprey. and icy heart of flooding sense that is not me .... that pencil wispered to a paper sheet... The sun kisses mountines , fields Reflect on Caspian black waters ... May be i dream of early twilight moon, Ridding the pinky horse .... that is not me ... that pencil wispered to a paper sheet... I sent the doves with posts three or four indeed....but... They hadnt been read . may be they still in net... You sang me the song on the old quatar, fingers dance a melody ...Habibi ... Are you alive ? Then i greet you with hugs Then ...i will die from hapiness Just for you...Habibi ! Please be alive ...let me know .... that is not me ... that pencil wispered to a paper sheet...