uncountablethoughts

For mental and physical deterioration, today I realize that every night is a desperate refuge to grow old ...! Like a bulldozer in a dark room with greedy eyes, To swallow the dreams that are scattered in the old woman's yard ...! The wings of a bird in the morning light, Or returning to my father's house last afternoon, alas ... Mother also whispers in the ears of the generation by whispering the song of sleeping at night- "In our country, there is freedom of speech, But after speaking, there is no more freedom. "