foolishly blaming her and blaming her,
And multiply her when she saw, its noises
and its prophecies, If her feast comes back,
And if my soul rages, let it rage
Is eternity nothing but distress and its relief,
imminently, Otherwise, it is narrowing and relieving
Concerns ended without their ways
my zine, And it was not closed to me
I will pass the time, until I return it
To where the doubts are not twisted
to night, Either her secret is a reporter
better my brothers, or insert it
And while the messengers still sing,
So, she shall meet with the family of Al-Mudabir.
people, The Old Testament and Its Newness
for them, And the bed of non-Arabs among them and its crown
If they camped in the house narrowed their quarter,
And if they ride in the earth, its crust will be stirred
Millions to irrigate the country
with their faces until they bleed
It was, on Baghdad, cloudy shadow
With the generosity of Abu Ishaq, I care about her erections
you followed her, The appearance of her beauty increased,
And weakened in the moment of the eyes of their joy
There is no hope except that you will find its way.
And there is no companionship but to you that will bring it back to you
I have a hand for you whose light has shined
On the sun until its lamp was almost fading
She died in the purity of paper,
So there was nothing left for the anointed but her mood
If blindness afflicts blindness, it
adorn the machine, in the system, pair it
And if I had a need for you,
on the sullen days, Here is her cure
and why not exaggerate the loss, they are near
on its way, straightening its crookedness
If I could terrorize her and rape her,
And you owe it every year
Svaha went too far with her blame and arguments – Al-Buhtari poet
