David Jah.
poet and writer Morettany.
«And we're a regular supervisory ride.
Yeah, the perfume is fate without us.
We may have taken the afternoon of the poor to school.
It has the prophecy of God's religion to show us.»I'm sorry.
This regular portal is not just an individual enlargement of poetry, its emotional repercussions that may sometimes go behind a collective formula in trying to hide, kill, wear lustious language masks and engage in traffic, as far as it is publicized with the community ' s desire and self-interest;
Moritaini, of course, is not satisfied to be less vibrant than his treacherous deserts on her face, that extends further as he speaks of her, or summons her as an alien in one of his winter nights, and this is the secret of our armour and its frostbite cloth, it's not just a cloth of glory and a rash.
Even the tables we're offering to the guests, they have to be a steamer with everything that's delicious and redundant, not only to eat, but to keep food forever. «You're alive.»I'm sorry.
The only thing we've failed to deal with is time.
I once thought I'd say to Nikos' wife as Zantzakis when she made a shocking language - in his report to Greco - about his desire to go down to the street to beg half an hour of transit, to keep his business. To tell her, we would have given him our half-lives and killed the rest with friends, or rather to say it to my tastes, which have once been broken, and she's enthusiasming the shrines of the Zoraba novel writer's widow through his wonders.
Suddenly, I felt a linguistic impulse and a trophy that guides me to another time we borrowed from the fourth dimension, which is poetry.
"I promise you the ugly
"You have Ahmad Muttar."
Oh, my God, grave. Tonight Ahmed comes down with his brother's perfume!
She wasn't allowed to say any more, and the woman we had, especially at that time, has no right to more than two lines, and this poetic pattern is called "bearing," which is only for women, and it was not fit to say the name of her disabled, but she did a habitual exit, and she went out of customs and what she was dictated to trust women.
But when did we start saying poetry?
This question is surprising, no one knows when the poet arrived, where the first poet was born, or how he died. «Kuwait» The country writes a report on the national situation that arises at that time, seven years after our independence and from hanging to an Islamic Republic with various ethnicities and diverse cultures, from the river to the desert.
The motive for the launching of this stereotypical title is that the magazine ' s delegation, from this vocal influx of bananas and this mass inspiration of poets, even the noble pastoralists give their lives the meaning of the time, the touching of trees in their crucible friendships, their only improvised flavors, the flavored flares, and here.
Moritanics still deal with the activation with extreme ridicule, and they're just mental schizophrenia and exaggerated laughter.
«If the poet didn't shake you when he heard it,
It's not free to say:»I'm sorry.
That doesn't mean that sudden exceptions did not take the hairy scene there. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, a poetic voice emerged from the mainstream and the public, blocking a path away from the ancestors, but it's the voice of an eternal cheek that never lasted, cried once and then erased.
«You idiot!
Threatening to a point where he didn't cry.
I'm done saying poem.
I'm early. I'm aware of the view.»I'm sorry.
This classical voice is Sidi Mohamed Ben Sheikh Sidia, who is the first call to remove the austered language clothing, and to fake a new, soft spot, not crying, and not vomiting on the bodies of the previous texts, after which the appeal that has not lasted long has been interrupted, because it is not based on a radical attitude of calcification, and editor.
The situation then continued, until poetic voices emerged in the twentieth century, in different moods, incessant harbours and a new language on space there, among these poets Ahmed Ould Abdelkader, born in 1941, whose ship was splintered by the flames of that raging poetic sea, with the applause of art and its enlargement.
"We left as our parents were leaving.
And here we go,
As our grandparents were liberating...
The sand bat tells us:
- Wow.
Your ship has lifted all the halls...
In particular, it has not been revealed in depth, but has been floating on the surface, preoccupied with national issues, alienism outside Mauritanian geography, and it is abhorrent to the ancient artifacts of Mauritanism, which has been crafted by the Sunshine, and whose al-Sharaq al-Sharbiyah al-Murbiyah al-Sharqah al-Sharbiyah al-Ayyadah al-Mahbiyah al-Qudah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Qudahbiyah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Qudah, who was born in the al-Mu`idah al-Aqah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Aqah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mu`idah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-Mah al-
It's not just a spectacular world, despite its great contributions, other voices have been infiltrating the scene, and the fact that, in spite of the few years, there's been some kind of vocal musical, which, in spite of the greatness of the greatness of the young people, has lost their lives and distributed them to their flimsy clubs.
Indeed, the clubs are no longer present in the scene, but members of the founders continue to be deeply rooted in their poetry and creative projects, including Sheikh Noah, Mulay Ali al-Hassan, Jakiti Sheikh Suk, Mohammed Al-Mumu, Osman Bonn Omar Lee and Khalil Mohamed.
In spite of the women ' s voices, much remains to be remembered, since the 1990s, Dr. Mubarak Bint Al-Bara, the throne has been steep in the throne, and it can be said that there are whispering voices, the scripture of the woman ' s vocal vocabulary, and then, for social reasons, the presence of the woman ' s culture, the poetry, the poetry has disappeared.
With regard to criticism, he was unable to keep up with the Mauritanian poem for purely social reasons, basket fears that emanate from the misery of the incubator and the destination. Every poet there represents his side, his social incubator, every criticism directed at a poet, an arrow that penetrates the body of the incubator, a tribe or a destination.
And this is the secret of enthusiasm and intense vote in TV contests.
Because the title is not for poets, not for Mauritania, but for the history of ancestors and their hilly grandparents: "The Earth is a people, the people of Earth, the poets..."
