The voice of the past breaks the barrier of the present silence, tops it, sends in my designs warmth, rises from the folds of the dimension, is that mirage? Or glory shakes off his shoulders? Pinky dreams? Or a race beating in the heart of Kantia: (You were the best nation that brought people out), Alawi Qamar Al -Talaa? Or Hala Nour, you need a weaving tissue at dawn? I was fighting the sea with the past, and the present broke my Majdafi, I carry all the travel cards through countless ports. Through the world, Taji shines over the lofty head, is removed, my feet wandering the borders of the earth, restricting it, and an Arab tongue that I do not need for others, cut off, grant other tongues. Skin knows him from the ground, attractive tan color, soften my skin. Diving to glory is like diving on pearls, at a time when breathtaking, bells beats: pearls need diver, and I am several divings that have fallen into the bottom of the sea. a. Dr.. Abdul Razzaq Hussein. Obeikan Publishing
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