Our days are colored with passion where all springs of happy times are emerging from their tall amazing nails. I am not water and can’t sleep in the hearts of these springs, but the martyrs had made a home for valentine’s birds which they know nothing but love and say nothing but chants. They are the creatures of light; from their travelling all the beginnings have started. Their hands were silvery, and you can see their brassy chants lying peacefully in our inner lands. Those valentine’s birds are constantly standing under love’s trees and give me an unusual kiss.
Our days are like my poems, gray and tasteless, and they oftentimes asked me to throw her from the bridge, but I am an old lover who can’t drink his coffee without passion. They had a wide heart, exactly as the big cows which I saw them in the remote city, and without any delay I had disappeared in their watery souls. These souls, which you may see them in old mirrors, can’t say anything but hesitancy and can’t know anything about love, so I will bring a jar of valentine’s smile to color their gray faces.
Do you see all the amazing colors in a beautiful sky? They are merely a pretty smile of our love. On his hand, I saw my soul and on his hat I found my nest. Our love is a green treasure I saw him before the wedding of sun and before the delivery of the trees, so all our days are valentines and all our shy whispers are holidays. From our kindhearted gaze, the earth had made her white dress, and from our smooth touch, the birds had learned their chants.