The love of what was made possible by the love – the poet Al-Buhtari
gram what was made possible of the gram,
and longing for the inspiring lover
I lived from the old age, in the morning,
by remembrance of you or refraining from blame
What full moon have you helped, unjustly,
I will go through the perfect night
but your luck faltered, day stay
You spend it coldly in my bones
it cost me all to care
with it, And you kept me busy with my mother
will be killed in the march, if we leave,
Ghaleel was sick in the place
The flames of your cheek hurt you, and you bleed
his beauties with a heart, in you, bloody
I forbid you to shed forbidden blood
with that sign, in a sacred month
Mohammed, O son of Abdullah, lola
We call you to the honorable esteemed
And the star has nothing but the length of a people,
in them you make you proud, or sublime
to you the house of the foreigners, where it is built,
and proud of the great satraps
He who does not bequeath will blame you in the dew
Exalted the honor for which you defend me
Your redemption is a blind genealogist,
of the nations, And the great moral
what are you up to, Except you came, sorry
seaweed, or towards the clouds
and how much darkness you have sat in,
and did not meet the sleeping people
I turn your hands crookedly,
Like a bowl of the spring in the mean feathers
slay me like darkness, lure lukewarm,
seduced him, dark dagger
advancing in the unleashed, he stretched out
and beat, He increased from the belt
You see his feet ascending in it
ascending lightning, in the dark clouds
And it is not good for you to give him this one,
saddle up, unbridled
I will do what you forbade, and better,
Virtue is nothing but perfection
التعليقات مغلقة.