This, while we were struggling with a thousand vortexes and whirlpools, the lights of dawn appeared on

the horizons, smiling at our generations. Despite this, we did not stop crying. Yesterday we cried over the
ruins of our homes, and today we cry over the blooming of the gardens with flowers. We cry because the
frowning clouds have disappeared. Our skies, after the eyes have dried up, have begun to pour rain. And
the delicious smells of spring have been lost throughout our lands. The universe and space rejoiced with
a new rebirth. We cry when we see chicks jumping here... and buds that have put on their costumes
there... and we cry over a thousand moans and groans here... and a thousand pangs and pains there...

We are strangers of the age.. In our hands is a bouquet of roses.. Our eyes supply the roses with drops of
dew.. We stand before the door of the one who hastened to come in the depths of winter to bring him
the great good news.. “Behold, the flowers have put on their belts, the seeds have opened from their
ears, and the rose has emerged.” Her dimples dipped sweetly, the nightingale rang out its melodious
chirps, and the joy of spring flooded everywhere. When we brought you flowers, we caused some of
them to wither, and their seeds were vibrant when you scattered them with your hands. We ask you, we
ask you, do not blame us and do not blame us, since the sultan has the behavior of sultans, and the
servant has the behavior of slaves. We are strangers to this miserable era. We were struck by violent
storms. We were unable to rise to the heights of the heart and the horizons of the soul, so that our
decision could be settled in tranquility and serenity.

My lord, do not deprive your servant of your care.

Give him your care...