Tangerine trees in the garden of my madness.
I planted olives in your name, now they have grown green thousand-year-old leaves.
My closet is dry, The water of the fountain of loneliness far away from home,
A pinch of salt and a bite of bread in my mouth that I chew, my only wealth...
Spring has come, summers have passed, The snow of the raw has melted from her head to her skirt,
The feet of a beautiful girl have gotten wet. The withered days have turned yellow on the branches,
From the hereafter, fold my dry little bread, touch the water of the apocalypse and wet your hand like that...
Lemon flowers in the garden of my madness.
I had bloomed poppies in the meadows in the days when bees flew and sprinkled them...
We hugged a lot and asked for permission from trees and branches,
We stepped naked on the ground and kissed the hands of every leaf on the holiday...
Squirrels' arrows do not hit the daisy,
The half wind catches all the arrows like lightning that are said to be uncatchable... Nettles in the garden of my madness.
They bite all the hands that are extended, The small sharp knife guard dogs of the soil.
A dusty old song hanging from a tree behind me,
Water flows murmuringly in the most beautiful poem of the season,
Happy dogs, donkeys, cats and dragonflies rising from their wells spreading their wings in pursuit of a weak light in my head,
Whoever I hug you, whoever I kiss, my lips always get cold like a January day...
An old oil can, a rose bush on the window of my madness.
I have written a thousand letters and folded them at the bottom...
If you hear a thousand, if you don't, a star falls from my sky.
A fire falls, a fire starts in the sky, a gift from the suns,
My insides are a hundred dried pine cones, a pine tree with the scent of gum,
I tremble the most whenever I catch fire,
I have many nests in my branch...
09.02 A flame burns a thousand years in a few hours, my love.
I don't think justice has a scale, or mercy has a book of calculations...
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