Tell Sarges, you son of the slutty bitch – the poet Al-Buhturi

 

Tell Sarges, son of the erotic whore
And whoever has desire in her womb will burn him.
And the son of the one who made the disease cleared
According to every stallion that violated it, he believed it.
Whoever is humiliated by being slapped is his concern
Humiliate the throats that are strangled by the rope
And when the Nabataeans were counted, this was
What was the text of the base of the dish?
And whoever has a worrisome daughter in the anus
it burned his eyelid, but made his insomnia long
And whoever has incense will disgrace his address.
Yes, and his spirit leaves him with his anxieties.
And who has an aunt who commits adultery, and a mother
a slanderous slanderer of his creation
And I take a bad sister over the usual times.
A fart’s unfamiliar fart has been hanged
Time has shown us a wonder at his disposal.
when he became like you on his neck
I swore if it wasn’t for my intuition and my knowledge.
By the lightness of your destiny, O son of corpse and waqh
I cut a bloody slapped neck from you
slapped him, his pupil squinted
but I have taken a measure above you that my father
gracious grandmother, My grandfather prevailed over him
Rather, how can someone greet you when you have prayed?
With my sway, and my claws with it stuck
O son of that, if the night falls upon a man
And he started stabbing her in the throat
she made a grunt that mimics the sound of her fart
This seducer is foolish with eunuchs he applauded
if you out of nowhere would you show your ignorance to me
When I denied the apparent compassion
And that we find if creation preceded it.
To the heights and allow the palm of what preceded it
Were it not for evil spirits, they would have turned away from you.
you want others infiltrated by pests
for a full moon and a star would have handed you over to me
A humiliating one who fears the abomination of his scattering
And besides you, you will not lose anything.
and you will catch him as soon as possible