Madinat Khalifa, the city that wears light by night, silver rays by day, is lilac, emerald and pink in its loosening, it is under the sky a beacon, and between the cloud, and the star is a lyre, the tone casts from the eyes of a wandering bird and a grandfather with beauty, grace, and the bearings of this city, tattooed with serenity Marked by the calmness of the night, the serenity of tree souls, the melody of the eternal melody between the folds of the grass, the soft twigs, and the softness of creatures, it melts with a cosmic soul with its unstoppable tenderness and generosity that does not dry up its stream. And I contemplated the achievements and miracles that happen. The mind is patient before it spells its letters, and the soul waits before weaving the story of building on the foot of the abundant data.
God, how the streets look, like Azeri rugs woven by fingertips of silk, and their fringes sewed with feelings from the velvet of comfortable days.
God, how much this city appears in the people as a festive wedding feast, and the people there seem to be devout to the point of symmetry with those who are steeped in celibacy, and the spirit of the breeze is reciting as it rains the leaves from the melodious chant of strings.
God, how much this city is like the flow of rivers, drawing a picture of beauty in eyes at its edge is a poplar, and in Mahaj Fayhaa, in which love rumbles until the valleys are watered, the soils are saturated, and the nooks of the desert are saturated, slumbering at their feet.
God, how clear and unfading this city is, sculpting its slumbering songs, the cuddles, and the souls of those who are buried for the love of life, who are drowning from the fountain of brilliance, straying in the deserts, and pastures of love, going in passion to the point of the core, always drifting with love for the place and no other place, no A land other than it is this cast of the essence of intelligence, woven from the thread of wisdom, always strung to the light, and it is in the light a moon, and in the heart of the moon it is dawn, and in the dawn it is a sacrifice lit by the breath of those who stared at the horizon and saw nothing but enlightenment, a message for all people. You make them together on the right path, you make them into the capital of truth, giant lamps, knocking on the doors of the future, with limbs and fingertips.
God, how much meaning this city has in the hearts of lovers of lofty meanings, how many signs and signs it has, indicating that in the heart of the capital, and on its outskirts, there lies the alphabet of induction, transcendence, and broadcasting, and there the endeavors are strenuous to the point of submissiveness without sacrificing, or Sigh, there the Emirati reality is wider than the ocean, and its center is the capital fascinated by beauty, and in its right arm rests the luminous city, and its people who are passionate about the dreams of birds.
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