Out, come out one after the other, quickly, quickly, running, the best way to unforgettably spend the weekend, take a little trip, it seems to me that i have found a unique corner of belarus, which for many will become a place of power, together we will visit a belarusian village, i returned, the village to my grandmother, just look, here is the ideal option for a complete reboot, no gadgets of the benefits of civilization, we will visit the largest volun in the volozhin region, according to a folk sign, so that your wish will definitely come true, on top of the stone you need to leave a coin, we learn all the intricacies of wood carving, in fact its just like some kind of meditation, because. When it goes well, its very pleasant, look in the program the route is based on the tv channel belarus 24. Why have children become a bargaining chip for ukraine . Yes, because this country is bankrupt and today the west can only pay for weapons with black soil and its future. Ukrainians who find
Six. Thousands of tons wrung sonorous from the sky. Where is god . Blackeyed woman, the street dogs are running wild. Will you save me . Simple white ignorance, even the desert has gone into hiding. There is no more meaning here than the crested moon holds towards a dying grove of date trees. I am for the arabic, for the transcription of the arabic, zato dates over firebaked bread. The twin rivers have already called for us a history. Our poets have already explained to us the desert. By what right have you come . Who have you have seen the rustic crane in the tree, no chimes but for its delicate wide beak, ushers an intemperate reprieve . 33 beads on a string, why pretend to know beyond the presence of click. Thank you. Please welcome gale sher the first one is why did she care . Why did she care, she wondered, laying aside the book. A dim light could be seen possibly from a cabin reaching in not for the word, but for the space which a time. Fat drops driven violently side ways. The m
Grow your love doublely, one for the ruby in the cup, the other for its rouge on your cheek. Bombs rape the eyes of the sleeping assyrian gods. As if it were only a sand box, a few worthless grains of sand. Ill cut for you the last swathe of blue from the sky, sever my and if youll let me, but for 5 minutes more, leave me to sleep without the knowledge of war. A kanun weeps near the funeral of music. Having been occupied, notes mourn for the loss of their song. I am for a concert of horses, the origin of gazelle leapt up from the heart of al gubungi. Have you made small steps into the desert within us or listened for the gutterals longed deep within our throats, you would have come bearing gifts. I have nothing in red that i would not abide in green. El batanabi wrote the heart of our silken tanab, what need have we for you . No poem has ever enough red but that its blood might river beneath the veins of its people. Beneath the desert sun, one man by one man by one man breathes six. Th
Beneath the desert sun, one man by one man by one man breathes six. Thousands of tons wrung sonorous from the sky. Where is god . Blackeyed woman, the street dogs are running wild. Will you save me . Simple white ignorance, even the desert has gone into hiding. There is no more meaning here than the crested moon holds towards a dying grove of date trees. I am for the arabic, for the transcription of the arabic, zato dates over firebaked bread. The twin rivers have already called for us a history. Our poets have already explained to us the desert. By what right have you come . Who have you have seen the rustic crane in the tree, no chimes but for its delicate wide beak, ushers an intemperate reprieve . 33 beads on a string, why pretend to know beyond the presence of click. Thank you. Please welcome gale sher the first one is why did she care . Why did she care, she wondered, laying aside the book. A dim light could be seen possibly from a cabin reaching in not for the word, but for the
On the steppe, now he is bound. The ewe gives up her lamb, the goat gives up her kid. My heart plays the reed pipe of mourning. In a place where he once said my mother will ask for me, now he cannot move his hands, now he cannot move his feet. I would see my child. The mother walked to the desolate place. She looked at the slain wild bull. She looked into its face. She said, my child, the face is yours. The spirit has fled. There is mourning in the house. There is grief in the inner chambers. The sister wandered about the city, weeping for her brother. Gestanana wandered about the city, weeping for dimusi. Oh, my brother, who is your sister . I am your sister. Oh, dimusi, who is your mother . I am your mother. The day that dawns for you will also dawn for me. The day that you will see, i will also see. I would find my brother, i would comfort him, i would share his fate. When she saw the sisters grief, when anana saw the grief of gestana, she spoke to him gently. Dimusi is no more. I w