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Poetry
There is no rituals to poetry
Or describing you
Or any organizer chaos
I follow only my sin
And breathe from the tomb of feeling
I cut the fertile vacuum
Into lost insides
In one of them
There is your solitude .
I make your spectrum every night
I gave it life from my unknown absolute
And through it in my subconscious.
In my alienation
I erased every road to the world
Every shadow of any community prison
Every light from dead sky
Except the torn road to you .
You are to wonder
To the lonley god
To the question
To the last line in every poem I write
To the rhythm of the last
To where
To when .
There is something in your eyes
That sharpen melancholy,
eating the space of my meditation
Murdering the curtains in my consciousness .

I feel like a whole existence
When I listen to the sound of the wind
that carries your smell ,
Dream dawn
Of the question about the core of everything ,
Attached her unconscious to mine
To bring the answer
From the grave of truth .
I am an imagination land to her silence
A dark secret that she will discover on the next autumn ,
My subcontractor knows whom their insides are the waves of rain ,
Draw the dead sky
Drop of blood on the body of doves ,
I am your pain
And you are my prison
The pain is infinite and eternal
And the prison too .
Collect all your life tears
All your shadows on the ****** paper
All the skies in your head
All your Philosophical non-Sense in your inside
And come to the total metaphor
To me
The only unknown that is visible .
There is conspiracy now
Among my characters
Someone I called yeti
said  : go to her and unveil your dreams about cellar of creation
and your whole
She already carries the dust of dead god ,
Someone else he came always to my dreams
Said to me
Watch what you feel
your existence lineage to your labyrinth of feeling ,
She will go in your folds
In your despair texture
In your construction of birth from nothingness
Take your wounded destruction
To the wind she created ,
Take your ruins of absolute .
I didn't find in the end of any feeling or idea
Except non
Even the idea of non ,
I didn't pray before commit suicide   ,
I didn't follow my mind and arrived to any fact ,
I won't count my sighs now
Because you blow in my troubled thinking .
The beauty of things makes me sad
Because it tells me often that the resurrection of dark
Will **** everything
Even my non selected  feelings to you  .
I catch madness, poetry ,crime , emptiness,and   you
in the wallet of death
in the body of mirage ,
I will die with my wrath on poetry although
  it gave me time to think to be .
Nothing can block our invisible from unite
You can see me in the semantics of my metaphor
You can realize me although the distance that separate our bodies
We will create the unknown road by our will to overcome the prison of time and place
I’m a very complicated man but love is a the great mirror that clarify the woods in my heart
I get abandoned by the people I always love
By dreams I hold once
By the signs of god
So I became an epic
You live in my solitude
That frightens the world too much
I open my eyes
And close my conscience
I need to see solitude in other people
To rescue my darkness from life.
I believe in your eyes
Because something musical gets out from it.
I believe in your body
Because immortality keeps poetry alone in it.
I believe in your labyrinth
Because it leads to my sorrow.
I want to destroy your silence
And follow you in the fog
To meet bergman who actes in the hell
And tarkovsky who shouts by my name and yours.
My horizon gets dark from time to time
But you are in the gap
Between my soul and body.
I will leave you destroyed
On the gate of nebula
And will not get closer to the blind death.
I don't own existence
But I own nothingness.
Nothingness is a lot of mirrors
that marry in onself.
the non insasive poems run
from your right eye to the left
and it never founds home
except when I **** the distance
between your eyes and my eyes.
my solitude commits suicide
every time I see you.
destruction condoles my soul
and I found its roots in you.
I will enter the life
When I die
And will enter the death
When I kiss you.
I want to widen the death
To include our souls in the frightened letter.
you are the last snowflake that commits a lot of paintings in my dark consciousness more than one night
i saw your face and get drowning in formation
once you kiss the flowers that get out from my heart
once you are goddess of creation who all the universe is your artworks.
i know that i'am buried in Melancholia
an i'am a producer of its dark
but pain Bites all the meanings .
your spectrum has a great value mass in everywhere i imagine
it looks like the spectrum of sufi god to his dervish .
i will give you all my universes in poems
so keep your heart open
the world is too cold without someone to be praying to .
chaos
Your eyes are burning with the beauty of death
Like the chaos which created existences
I see them as an inspiration to any poetic viewer
They are prepared well with despair
Engineered with the holy blue ink
To catch the words from my feeling .
I have something in my depth
You should see
A solitude that holds remains of broken cages
within them
A flower is stained with the blood of my melancholy .
On the body of the night
At the gates of dark
Your confused spectrum
Takes me to the tree of whole
Where you wear my words
And we climb together to the great brightness .

— The End —