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 creatures of light, and 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 the love’s trees and give me an unusual kiss.
Our birds are like my poems, gray and tasteless, and they oftentimes asked me to throw her from the bridge, but I am an old lover, can’t drink my coffee without passion. Our birds had a wide heart, exactly as the big cows which I saw them in that city, and without any delay I had disappeared in their watery souls. These birds, which you may see them in the old mirrors, can’t say anything but smile, so I will bring a jar of valentine’s smile to color their gray souls.
Do you see all the amazing colors in beautiful sky? They are merely a pretty smile of our love’s small mouth. On its hand, I saw my soul and on its 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 your shy whispers are holidays. From your kindhearted gaze, the earth had made her white dress, and from your smooth touch, the birds had learned their chants.