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Book Description

first english poetry book to the egyptian poet elsaied abdelghani
*
In this strange land that I don t conquer its roots yet
And the conquering by writing maybe about its details.
I saw your eyes that inspired cosmos in the imagination.
People are strange until insides unit in a meaning
People are strange only if they don t meet in the aesthetic of eternal light
On the shores of love.
Let s pray to the poetry
Because it collets always the colored unknowns.
I am a pure nothingness
That Gets crazy all the time to be figured out as everything
So give me your hand and let s create our world.
What I wrote is your beauty illegal right.

Curse
I violated everything in my world
It became my identity over the course of my entire time
I burnt the butterflies that housed me
And the aesthetics that made me feel pleasure
And all of my wings are in the zone of death I have set it,
I grew up in loneliness
And I died in it
I wrote the Destruction by my hand
Am I created from the chemistry of the resurrection?
I was cursed from the world, people, and gods
And the Curse is erect and deep.
It is all I have
Mystical stations open
Fake harbors punctured.
I bury my face in my bed
In order to enter my private rare luxury
To lick my stricken soul
And the drunken remains of my stumbling block.
I am lost in myself, in pain, in my wandering
I am looking for someone in the land of no one
I am looking for any goddess to talk to me
Who doesn t have a world to run.
I am a wolf with a nature of a deer,
A deer with a nature of a wolf.
No one has taken care of me since I was born in the woods
Only strange instincts
I do not protect its flow.
I disobeyed my spiritual elements and kinship with sincere erasure.
I ll cut through the bone of the world to find you
I ll be consuming my crazy, stray ink
In the world s cells, hours, customs, and borders
I want your chemistry to test my waste
To show the scene of the allegiance of the global system to the last chaos together
My closets are open to you,
My Sentimental box,
And the narration of my secret.
What does death do in poetic people?
It keeps me away from wanting to talk to your spectrum.
Many esoteric wars lead to the death of my love to the world
I have clairvoyance that you are an eternal broad escape to the darkness of reality and imagination.
I have a single wing that has a fracture suspended in one shoulder
I have Behalf of the absolute and the other half of absolute in you
I have a provocative beginning from a feminine ending,
Do I realize my grief while seeing you, and realize my extreme loneliness?
Do I realize that I must be without more banks to fall into your universe?
I look long at the last, non-formal kingdom

And blind and I see again your spectrum,
My visuals are all imprisoned in your face, his perceptions, and his shedding
No, I will not shy away from creating a coincidence of our meeting
As an innocent plant in the barren land of fate
I will release my meanings towards you
And this cosmic pain I will replace by the expression,
Stop the quarrels, my words
Enough plural me, authority
I clashed with its wandering port without slowing down
And I climbed in my absence to the roof of my presence and disclosed to her.
Who will be able to repair my denotational excitation?
Who Insecure this complete full drawing of a sad god?

Who would be me and make me up again?
Who will veil me and expose me without fear and with many details?
What is my house? What is my exile?
I wore black and drowned in any dark hue in my mind?
Crossing over to you in your seclusion hidden in the corners of the imaginary universe
Is killing to all types of my death
Let’s mix our melancholy,
The pure dawn is at the farthest point in our conscience
Let s peace the tentacles of fate,
go up and go down on the chandeliers of the lines, and record what was found in our imaginations
Recreating the life made of our pain.
I am a flame in a cup of flesh and bone
In a cup of existence and null being mixed
Elaborate fiery and woven with pain craft and skill
Messy paths, my hugs, and my miracles.
Our bones, our flesh, our blood, our insides, our tremors will fuse
And the structures of our absence and our absence,
We touch the signs, wills, visuals, and narrations of each other.
I will get lost in your eternity
And you will get lost in eternity
Uninterrupted.
On the shades of some of us, we inscribe poetry in extreme reverence
We create a secret for ourselves...
Laced in the vein of antonomasia and metaphor,
I did not stop watching my absolute as he discussed null over my identity.
I slipped off the world s fabric, pore, and chemistry
From his defeat and calamity
And I created my interwoven world
With a new defeat and a new calamity.

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