From old letters.  The country mail did not arrive!
 I try to remember, when was the last time,
 I do not remember;  But he did not arrive long ago.
 I try to write to people I know,
 What can I say?!
 white pages look at me,
 pens fiddling with my fingers,
 Music in the player
 It doesn't sound like outside...
 There is a city running that I don't know,
 Here a soft present is born out of nothing... I don't understand it.
 This is what usually happens in the woods;
 Trees and greenery surround me,
 Crows scavenge the ground like widows in a cemetery,
 I occupy myself with the serenity of the lake,
 The picture of trees is more beautiful than reality.
 Every reflection of reality is more beautiful than it!
 go back to where i was,
 light wood in the stove,
 I contemplate the fire of salvation,
 I try to focus on the country.

 Art installation by Amir Khatib