Holidays

This time it's a holiday

Now you have to go

The way everyone goes.

Now we have to go to the mountains of feelings - the forest - the sea

Now we have to leave the city - to the village

where my mother lives

Waiting for me on the way

Where simplicity meets faith

People's eyes are green and brown.

Now we have to go back to the village

Where the smell of sand

This time, however, it will be a happy holiday in entertainment

It may be temporary

However, there will be no intersection marks in daily poetry practice.

You will also go with my poetry practice in the brain, mind, nerves, bone marrow

Junakis will light the lights at each nishith

During the day, you will be accompanied by the chirping of bored birds

Trees will provide shade and butterflies will dance in the thirsty sky

Villages that do not have rivers have become secondary

Constantly neglected by people.

Maybe I won't talk to you for a while,

Eye to eye, maybe a longer separation for a moment

Yet the third eye remains open,

Where will the lockdown be broken due to Corona?

Now I don't come back to this blog again.

Now many people are going to die and leave forever.

Due to lack of oxygen due to severe breathing problems due to corona virus

None of us are immune from the ravages of Covid-19.

Maybe no one comes back and this is the way of the world

You are like oxygen to the whole poem

This time it will be a happy holiday.

Our laughter will play the long intersection where the stars match the zodiac signs.

You will not get it anymore when the life of Birhava is an isolated island

Follow the health rules to prevent corona in the attack of corona

When the city is a valley of death.

Just a few days

you see-

Even if you go back to the village

Mom Antartama will not leave finally. Both are in love.

Love that flows like a river in a winding path in silence

He has no retirement.

heat of love

Like volcanic lava

The heart is like hot magma in the chest;

Beloved is carefully kept in the beating heart,

Covered like a blanket in the forest on the hill

Let it happen.

Maybe the strange emptiness is empty, empty, yolk, yolk, love

Makey is wrapped in modest clothes to cover emotions

In case someone says something - thinking.

This time, however, we will have a private holiday

It's like a crazy life chased by love in the background

Wings flutter like a wounded Shalik

Hold on to the straw of hope

Flying in the open endless sky.

Injured Shalik's wings may be just the same.