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kill me

My name is Amin. I love writing the truth more than fiction


We miss our mustaches to our streets
To the trousers that preceded us when turning
Are our streets in the city center?
Those whose trees are equal
And its streams in which the water is enjoyed and rejoiced
Or have we reached the point of hallucination
And illusion makes the imagination of the deceiver
He depicts a pile of dirt on a horse
And he is like a knight above it in the history book
He looks at us and idols
On the outskirts of Mob City
No city without ghosts
The city is pale, with strange trees
Dirt accumulates and the fish are overbearing
Who do they run away from, what are they playing?
Hahaha, really carefree, funny
A civilian gang and a security gang
They are playing a game of hiding and seek
One, two, three still
Faster, faster, you are the heirs of oil
They hid behind petrol and gas
Hurry up, you are the heirs of the revolution
Hide behind freedom and republic
And do not forget the slogans, long live the grapes
Hold this writer
He said about security, a waste of petrol
His turn now to close his eyes
Or kill him and throw him to the ground
In a city not suitable for worship
And everything you touch is tainted by the forbidden
A mixture of hypocrisy, dark color
Noises and strange intellectual barbarism
Our minds touched our markets floundering and saying
Everyone is crazy, everyone is corrupt or sworn
To maintain the honesty
If your lessons are not canceled and you are expelled from school
Join the forces and choose a weapon for you
And kill me with it when I close my eyes
Because I will not play hide and seek with you
And when I die, I rejoice and you live
In a city that is not suitable for joy or hide-and-seek

© 2021 tabouche amin

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