Shorok Hamod

Freud resides in your body

It is his clinic,

Which I am full of

With rest of people


We are the marathon’s generation;

jogging to cross deserts


The more my mobile phone begin its vibrations,

The more I know that devil

Is taking you

From nature

To bed


            ,           Along the café

Her deep lust

Is a collection of locks

Which try to escape

from rust


Some are cowboys..

Some are stars boys..

And he is the guardian

Of your numbers

Among memory’s sand


For a new circulation of love;

Fight your death

With kisses

And marriage