Our river flowers always try to paint the feminine looks that teach the world its wonderful existence and give life a wonderful love. When days try to sing with their beauty, they are embodied in the magical songs of our flowers and when the rainbow wants to wear their bright colors, it will take a flavor of our beautiful flowers. The magical lands cannot find their wonderful smiles only on the faces of our river flowers, and the wind cannot find the beautiful dew without whispers of our magical flowers.

I'm so sorry, I can't love you because I'm just a faint residue. I can't love you because I'm from here; from the sad land. Yes, you have a very beautiful voice, but I can't love you because I am a man who can only cry. Believe me I can’t love you because I cannot smile in the morning, and I will fail to whisper at night. You see; I'm just a blind shadow so I can’t love you. I am a sandy man and son of the desert, so I can’t love you. I'm the heir of wars and red tales, so I can't love you. I'm from here; the dry land, so I can't love you.

I remember the white cheesecloth of my grandmother by which she was making cheese from milk. In fact, I liked that barrier, cheesecloth, because I didn't like milk and I was liking cheese, and because it's real and white, but you see the barriers these days; it's red and dark. Yes, they are, like my heart, bitter, dark and full of lies.

I am an Iraqi man whose life was postponed and his face was stolen by wars. My voice is faint like a shadow and the clothes of my dreams are so short like my laugh. I know nothing about beauty or love, and I know nothing about the Detian Waterfall. Believe me, I don't want a colorful hat or a golden watch. all what I want is to see Euphrates live a day without blood, and the shells leave the broken ribs of Babylon. My friend, when you visit my garden, you will only find sad flowers and you will only see a stolen life.

I am the son of war; my memory is kneaded with its hard dances, and my heart is colored with its dark spirit. When our tales end at its cold knees, you will find me in its smoky corners with a terrifying shiver. Look at my water, it's ***** and look at my future, it's just ambiguity. I'm a good son, so I'm its mirror. I can make all the morning flowers torn, I can drink all the cow's milk savagely, and I can destroy all the magic souls in the cedar forest. Here, in my chest, a legendary loss that destroys the entire beautiful mirrors, and a wide pain that kills the dreams of the moon.

Do you see all these amazing colors in the beautiful sky? They are just unique smiles of our love. There, I saw my soul delighted near a bank of a colored river on its head a very green hat, above which was a loving nest. Yes, our love is a green treasure, I have seen it before the sunrise and before the wedding of the trees, so all our affectionate glances are Valentine's moments. From our timid whispers, the birds learned their songs and from our soft touches, the sunsets took their silk clothes. And from our secrets — which I am not told — the evenings have learned every intimate and warm story.

My days are like my poems; gray and tasteless. They often asked me to throw them from over the bridge, but I was an old lover who could not drink his coffee without passion. They have wide hearts, just like the big cows I have seen in the old city, and without any delay, I have faded into their very watery souls. Those souls, which you may see in the old mirrors, can say nothing but silence because they are, like my land, do not know anything about love. So I will bring a jar of smiles to color their gray face.