Sitting alone, without the phone, and without my favorite fruit, “history and literature books”, makes me enter into deep thinking, makes me conjure you up, and weave a story with you that we live in my imagination. He is both of us a hero in this story, and “I”
Green plants, vegetation, geometry, geometry, India and India, we breathe, we breathe flowers, we smell teacup style, we are close to nature, we are near river banks. Qat “Al-Awni” directed by me, and I eat these branches from your tender hands and taste them with the taste of your delicious smile, and I look at your sweet face, so I enjoy your beauty, the river and the forehead, we listen to the songs of the entertaining artist “Mohamed Abdo”,
Until we ditch the water, and play with it, until we get tired, or let’s do. Something out of the title “Our little boy, and we walk together on the bank of the river, or Let’s go up to the top of the mountain, and see the areas, all from the top of the mountain, or Point a foot and take a soccer ball and play, you and the honor of a team, a team alone, or” Let’s take a bow and arrows and we’ll hunt Some of the wild animals, then by slaughtering them and roasting them on the fire, then we eat them together and feed them, honoring our little ones, enjoying seeing them enjoying them.
Or for us to do any work that condemns you, or for me to sit next to you and listen to your interesting conversations and interesting stories, or to make you talk to me about your childhood in a rant, and tell to puzzle you about it, or to exchange riddles and riddles, or to make you read to me something from the Qur’an, the biography or your stomach.
To read to you some of my poems that I wrote for you, interesting history stories, Or to tell you about Al-Mutanabbi and his poem in which he reprimands the Hamdani state, in which he says: If your secret is what our envious said What about a wound if pain pleases you? Or to read to you his poem in which he praises Kafur and offers to admonish Saif al-Dawla, in which he says: My heart loved you before I loved you from the flute And he was treacherous, so be faithful The tears of the eye betray its Lord If, after the departed, they are close by.” He also says in praise of Kafur al-Akhshidi: “Boy, we walked in the backs of our grandparents Until his time, we only hope to meet.” Or you can spell camphor and say: “Eid, by any means, you are back, O Eid.