I will smile this morning, because its sun reminds me of your brightness, its birds remind me of your greeting and its flowers remind me of your smile which plants in me every beautiful hope. I will smile this morning strongly, as if I see it for the first time, and as if I will live it forever, because it reminds me of your glances, your tales and your whispers. Do you feel this breeze? It reminds me of you. Do you see those orange autumn leaves? they remind me of you. Do you touch these dreams which have been hung on the wall of our home? they remind me of you. Oh, dear lost happiness for years; please come with your lovely smile; come with your precious fragrance. Please the lost happiness; come up even once; even for a single false time to remember that I am still alive.

Please hold my hand, hold it tightly, I want to feel something warm, I am tired of coldness in this world. Imagine me a bird and catch me strongly, imagine me a flower and catch me strongly or imagine me what you want but what is important is to hold my hand strongly, I really need your warm hand to feel that I am still alive and not frozen. Please hold my hand warmly, hold it deeply; hold it lovingly. I am a cold shadow thirst for warmth, depth and love. I am an absent tale on a lost paper need warm fingers to find their lines. Please hold my hand to celebrate and light a candle in my cold nights.

Have you seen the distant islands, fairies Islands? Yes, I know, you did not see them because you are, like me, not a poet; only the poets can see the remote islands; the islands of fairies.
Have you ever seen the truth face to face and given you a smile? Yes, I know, you did not see it because you are, like me, not a poet; only the poets can see the truth and pick up its smiles.
Have you ever been able to see your soul being stripped in a vast light where shadows swim, faint shadows growing within you an unforgettable ecstasy? I know, you never could see your naked soul, and you do not hint at those shadows, or that great ecstasy because you are, like me, not a poet; only the poets can see the naked spirits, their shadows and feel their exaltation.
Have you ever sat on that brown hill above the moon and looked at the earth, every part of it, every laugh? every look: every whisper; as if you were looking at a nut? I know that you never sat down and did not look at any part of the earth or any laugh, any look or any whisper on it because you are like me, not a poet; only the poets can reach the moon and sit there above their brown hills. They are the only ones who can see every part of the earth, every laugh in it, every look of love and every whisper of passion.
Have you ever written a charming poem? I know you did not write such a poem someday, because you are, like me, not a poet; only the poets can write a charming poem. Believe me, to see beauty honestly and honestly describe it and to see truth honestly and honestly tell it, you have to be a poet.

What do you think these buds dream of? I mean the boys of my village. Do they dream of an abloom flower, of a colorful bird, of a warm kiss? Or do they dream of war, of ruin, of the blind smoke that you breathe out of your bitter mouth as a snake, like a black predator monster? O the black earth. Please enough for being a predatory snake, enough for your bitter absence, enough for this cruel cold. I am really tired of your deserted color, your deserted mouth, your deserted words. Think for a moment, what do you think your children are dreaming of my village children? Look at their dreams with love. Stop your hardness. This palm, your palm do you see? They have become bitter grief. And this amber, your pride, do you see it? It has become a dismal mirage.
O country of killed dreams. Repeatedly and I see you crush my dream with your cruel feet. Repeatedly I say to you that you do not know the art of dreams, the art of love. Go out of the orchard of my grandfather with no sorry and look for another dark place like your soul. Get out of Iraq, let him smile; remove your poisoned nostrils from its bleeding waist. O land of despair. Now I will leave with all my love, and I will die gladly, so that I will not see your ugly face your bitter face. I will always cry for my soul, the soul of Iraq, in a permanent funeral for the dead Iraq, for Iraq's dead dreams; the dreams of the boys of my village.

When you touch me, I do not stand near the faint window, but I open all the bright doors, the doors of a very strong and very shapeless breeze. O Ramadan; the rain of touches that reach every story in my weak body and every region in my soul. Your touch is a soft candle, yes your touch is a new white flower. When you smile at me, I do not wait behind the absent window, but I see the true doors, the doors of endless time and unlimited place. Oh Ramadan, you can imagine my very intense and very shapeless happiness. When your soft whispers flow deep in me, I will never be near the salty window, but I will be immersed in warm doors , the doors of swimming in a stunning river, disappearing in a very strong and very shapeless sea. O Ramadan, let your lantern to touch my cheeks and draw a beautiful spring on my eyes. Let fasting immortalizes my body out of the water that will gone, and the food that will perish. Let my body know its true existence, and let me see my real body without food or drink. O Ramadan, allow your lantern to shine in my depth and to color my soul with unforgettable chants.

Yes, nature is beautiful but you are more beautiful than nature. Yes, the city is spectacular but you are more magnificent than the city. When you break my loneliness with your crazy clamor, life has another taste. When you sink my body with your dewy fields and wet grapes then the moments becomes more magical. You do not know how beautiful the evening is with you, you do not know how desolate nature is without your sweet voice and you do not know how cool the city is without your lovely warmness. I love nature and I know that there is magic, but these winter streets and these low lights, make your face more bright, And these high-rise glass buildings and the bridge over which we sang, I imagine if there was no bridge here, how would we recite our poems? Look at the big hours, the big squares and the big markets, they are charming but they are without you becoming dim. Luxury restaurants, luxury hotels and luxury jets leave unforgettable memories. Do you remember that? All of this makes life a different magic and a different taste, and you are, in the midst of all this, more beautiful than nature and the city.

I am a simple farmer from the South and when I bring walnuts to my house, I celebrate. At that time, our **** became more attractive, and our chicken wears a melodic dress. The small windows of our little house are also celebrating with us, and our throbbing cows are celebrating despite the difficulty of the celebration on her heavy thighs. At the walnut celebration, we make a round circle on the ground near our old fireplace and put all the nuts in the middle. At that time, you heard nothing but the celebrated nut, smiling with warm stories. Listen, you should do a walnut celebration on winter nights shortly after sunset as there is only a cool breeze and stillness of the night. Also, you must be a simple farmer from the south, just like me, to savor the delicious tidbits of the walnut celebration.