Secret gates

Arif door

The narrator said

... Mubarak Almadad nominated on the age of my pen and the current in his veins, blessing his paintings and letters and images transmitted to him, Mubarak is the secret still.
The sun refused to hide when it was left behind the western mountain, as the pen ran on it.

• I came to you.
• Forbid God.
  Then the narrator completed his speech ... Yesterday I completed the story of the arif who disappeared on a distant moonlit night, he returns all the time from time immemorial, to stand above the dome of his shrine praising the precious as he calls it, delirious and confirms that he loves the sun does not know the fall and does not know. The sun shines on all four sides.

House decorated with unseen colors

In that house decorated with the colors of the unseen, and the lights came down from mezn, mixed with the hope of hope and verses of prayer, and estuaries of the river, and the wind caught the lotion of the seas, and the perfection of the mystery of the lights tucked in the showers loaded with fragrant spirits, the discovery of the righteous people take their minds to shake them, mixed with the secret The sari, the pianist of the night strings, invigorated by the brightness of the morning.

Just ghosts

We were just ghosts accompanying us the night when the narrator spoke. Including a point, chilling, subject heads, perish insights, and manifest insights, revive insight, open insight, self-reluctance, uplift the soul, does not return after the sight is wrong and is sad and sad.

The blessing of arrivals

He blessed the arrivals from the four sides, waiting for the serenity of the sky, but the people in those distant castles hate love, but they hate even the poor and dervishes .. They said: I have loved Darwish tramp does not have the wreckage of the world other than a mind stuffed with dhikr and hymns .. Is the world unable to give birth Non-Dervishes .. Dervishes are poor .. They are all brats, their capital is this corrupt commodity called love ...
"The dervish trade was initially corrupt and their merchandise was corrupt from time immemorial," said a sheikh from the Sultan's lining.
The narrator said, and the night is still at the beginning and we were just ghosts accompany him, and the universe is a big bubble, when the flag of the unseen.

House erected

There, the house was placed on the highest peak, hiding from the eyes of voyeurism, no one will ever reach him, to testify to what the narrator tells you of his command, the order of its owner full of noble longing and embracing the entire universe.
He was looking at his sun, her eyes ... God, these were not two eyes, but they call and repel, sin and forgiveness, life and death, and knowing those eyes and the mystery of the sky deposited in them, her hair was drunk and tired would like to rest on the shoulder of a lover slaughtered.

Samahrian spears

Did he embrace her waist an hour, and the call was feverish and wailing, in the night of patriots and boredom, the castles of the arif were spread and sailed in blood, and love ... adoration This bereavement and sorrow, love and death are the title of the beginning of creation, the war on all sides and the rival one and the murderer within sight and killed One, and in the heart of death Darwish bowed with his blood and recited the songs of his love ...
But the spears of Samaria thirsty for blood contaminated with love ... God is the most precious blood of the dervish lover has died Arif .. Killed him crucified under the balcony of his sun, which does not know the decline does not know ...

Tides

At a time when the sea stopped tides, not in the forest, birds sing, do not hear the river is pure. That celestial reed, and that singing flute, the flute that summed up in the meanings of the longings of youth and grieving grieving ..

The narrator went on to tell us as we listened with humility, he was speaking among us, we were sitting, but his voice was actually coming from a distant space of the universe, emerged from the Temple of Solomon, painted on the walls of the temples of the ancients, arranged the stones of ancient civilizations, carried between the crow's eyes The teacher of the mystery, the eye of the falcon, the owner of the wings of the eagle, the heart of the green bird, tattooed in all the colors of flowers, the power of the elephant, the voice of the roar, the turban of every scientist, the visions of each philosopher, the point set to distinguish the letters, orbiting in the orbit of planets, regular in the impact of his performance, Swimming above the clouds, overlooking from above to below, strong in the narrative, honest in width, no increase a Decrease in an interview with him.

Al-Arif
knew that, living alone with his oneness, ignorant of his condition with his conditions, displaced from people who were large, generous, friendly and compassionate, compassionate to his family, his paradise in which the eyes blew up, her thrones were never empty. Her eyes tell thirsty thirsty, shades permissible for those who harbor it, the doors of his palace never did not respond to the face of liquid or transient or lover, his voice is low, his smile fills his face, his eyes laughing upbeat, his jelly filled the light in the houses of the poor, flour floured by the mouths of orphans, oils perfume Ali The faces of the lovers, his incense wandering the streets of the village, the melodies of the voice of praise lying in a house E, not obsessed with fear of not, not afraid of disobedience, They do not want to be the master of his people and he is their master, shy if he praises, a good person if he is vilified, a magazine for the people of science, a permanent mention of instilling values in him, do not be alarmed by the news, do not rejoice in the news, his house kisses the villages, shattered his reputation with his fragrance.

The people of the villages, who took him off the status of mankind and affixed them to the angels, some of whom threw him to make his own condition to say about him, including the loving, the needy, and other folds of the souls of human beings. Who taught them the inherited love, sowing seeds of goodness in the hearts of the surroundings, few words, much thought, diligent in planting patient to put forward, not rushed to harvest time.

That was, to distribute the mleihat Mleihat his gifts and songs, at a price and without a price, was not asking and does not argue in the price, if he was given taken without indifference, otherwise he gave and went, God what is most of the mleihat in that valley, but one Mleiha remained beautiful sadness between Hnaya and ribs If he stood under her balcony and looked to his heavenly eyes to that small reservoir that resembles a crescent, that beautiful and soft swing hanging in the space of the castle where he first saw his sweetheart and saw her, in the evening as well as the evening and the place is that place, he saw the first saw those dreamy pink curtains, It was hanging and knotted on either side of the balcony, it looked The eyes of this porch that evening swing from the hammocks of paradise has nothing to do with that sheer castle that rises in its cruelty in space.

And his sun rises ... It was a sweet being. It was a dreamy spectrum as a field of violet and jasmine waking up after a rainy day.
Aref was holding the flute and inflamed heartbreak for thousands of years, was the flute know that his breath is the last of the slain Darwish slaughtered, was the evening in those pigeons mourn the last dervishes in majestic silence. Al-Arif died, they killed him under the balcony of his sun which he does not know and does not know.

When she saw him puffing his pipe under her balcony, she heard the flute sobbing. An illusion of imagination from the top of the balcony pumping space with perfume and then spilled like a cloud decomposed on the face of the knowing.

It is the tale of the lord who is roaming the valley whenever the evening comes, and he recited the songs, not appearing fatigue, but the noble sorrow, the sorrow of the lovers, and those with great souls, he was on the paths throwing the weight of his weak body under any tree, his feet as if it leads him to where you want If Nodi from those high balconies, stopped for a moment and lifted his gaze to the sky and shaved him in the horizons as if looking for a deposit in the dome of the universe as if the sound comes from somewhere from this dome even if the sound rose in the spectrum of Mleiha infiltrates in the modesty of its femininity, spinning without He cared and then went on the paths, told by the narrator while we were just ghosts accompanying Night.