As we moved from poetry to love, we move from love to death. H | Thoughts Hub

As we moved from poetry to love, we move from love to death. How do you view the relationship between love and death? The most beautiful stage in life is the stage between poesy and the grave.

How beautiful is the distance between a woman and the grave. Love is great, only death is equal to it. The man is the food of the woman. The man deliberately walks towards death. To love—death. Death comes to the woman. The man comes to death. Poetry and its muse.

They have the right to bandage the wounds of the universe. They have the right to carry the secret of the pristine taper in the womb of things since the Bing Bang and the poets, the cotton flower and its dew.

They are the first thing that hangs from the clusters of the sky. They are the idea of God with which He adorned His creation before man became a human. Its thread starts from the wink of the Lord in the mud and then pours down. Its thread hanging between a star and a star between a moon and dew is the thread of the scent of the petunia flower that the deceivers follow.

When poets ascend to the sky of meaning, the Lord smiles at the children of His idea, making way for the angels to pass through names, faces, hearts and secrets.

The least talented of them says; "My heart is a shell without resonance," and the oldest of them bleeding says; "The flood weighed on my shoulders. The universe and the nectar of the idea floats over the kingdom."

The wisest from them declares; "Make the ark with the eyes of your heart and carry two bells from every life. Build the poem when you fall asleep and when you wake up when you are missed by dreams and when you die. The son of the poem as the old man of the sea taught us from the prophets, and let your miracle be a flower that you cast in the face of the waves."