At dawn, that is, half an hour before it, the gates of heaven were knocked by a cloud eager to reach the palm of the earth, this blessed land, this land that is in harmony with the cloud in terms of giving and at the door it became dark, and the lightning shining its lamps with great care and attention and arranging the two lenses of its night glasses to see how it is The face of the earth as it washes its eyelashes with rain, and how can I and my heart become a notebook that records the notes of clicking on the asphalt, tinkling on the tree pages, caressing the cheeks of grains of dirt as they sing the verses of joy, as the cloud shook its coat after the thunder rumbled in its folds, and after the dead had woken with longing To get wet, I became in the place a dream probe, and the bird that twisted its wings around a cold body, started babbling about young people, woke them up by the drops, as if they were pricks of needles, injecting the feathers, and telling the story of the water that revives the bones while they are still being restored, then touching the eyelids that stopped fluttering, muttering, and muttering, The entire universe became a giant box in which the sky fountains pumped the clouds, and everything that thunder did when it moved the places of stillness in the folds of the universe, so that the earth would become like a mythical womb, receiving the existential epic with gratitude, and celebrating the historical night, with the star that hid behind the shawl of the cloud, but it did not omit the role It is natural for all God’s beings, so I saw her raising her dress to see what is happening, then flashing deeply in the fold of the cloud, touching her body gently and elegantly, then disappearing, to appear again again, and announce to the world that life begins from here, from the Emirates, when It reveals the effort of its cloud, the world becomes an oasis of singing, the birds sing in its fave, the tree enjoys its sprouting, faces tired of its emotional dryness blush, and the air becomes a poem from the time of Nizar, a novel from the era of Mahfouz, and a wave of the history of that greed who declared that the sea, even if it reached its ferocity , except that it is the chest, the sacrifice, the dawn, and the pride, today and on the last night of a year that has passed with all its sores and cracks in its robe, the blessed cloud bleeds us, for a new year, we celebrate it, as it inspires us with longing for a human relationship that returns to its course with yearning, longing, and elegant luster that restores what was destroyed And builds on its impact the glory of the great ambitions that manifest our country, which it loves and loves, and cherishes its riches and exploits.
Only half an hour had passed, if I had not miscalculated, until the cloud had passed, and the street kept drying its wet clothes, and I remained catching the edges of my sleep that might hardly reach my eyes, but with all, I was in the fun of joyful moments.
.