Outside the bird chirps for the sun in its beak, we pull the curtain in the room, our evening is over.
Our sun sets once a year on December 31st and rises only once on January 1st. We carefully share these photos, wish them a Happy New Year and then draw the curtains. We have an evening. The rest of the year, in the darkness of that evening, we live on clocks and we have no idea when the sun is rising and when it is setting. We are the derby broilers that never crow. Of course, those whose existence is made of the open soil of the forests, only they know how henna is applied on the hands of the horizon every evening when the sun sets.
We lost the sun. We only have clocks now. The clocks filled our being with horror. There was a facility, we made it a torment. Morning does not come down, now madness comes down. Horror has turned our lives into deserts: run, and run! Only five minutes left, it's too late. In this world of horror, never look at the streets, what a commotion.
We watchmen know what a pleasure it was to spend the day with the rising and setting of the sun. It was not a matter of minutes and hours. It was just a calculation that the shadows have grown taller and are now coming from the steps. It was morning, it was noon, it was afternoon, it was late, and it was evening. When the alarm wakes you up, you remember the days when the sun's rays sounded. Wake up, wake up in the morning and with them the noise of birds.
The morning of the sun does not come like a gnashing of teeth that suddenly it is seven o'clock and the man sits up in a daze. The morning with the sun slowly descends like the first love. What beautiful stages it has. Dhammi, Sergi, dark face, and then morning. Every moment spent with the sun is cherished in a string of folk music. Kakra dhammi diya kovile dati ai bang ". Or" Shala koi na vachhare dagar de vale ". Afzal Aajez also wrote that" Nahamoon jai khwab ach aaya mahi ".
The elders who recite this cucumber and tahajjud of Dhamma wake up together. Years ago, when we were camping in a village called Lashkar-e-Ghaz just before Cromber Lake in the Bruges Valley, the "crab" of someone's dhamma in the village announced the dawn so many times before dawn that it did not let us sleep. When I think of Brugel and Crumber, this crab of Lashkar-e-Gaz also sits on the wall of the heart. Luckily, he did not feel cold and did not sleep.
Getting up with the sun and sleeping with it is a requirement of nature. We ignored this requirement. People wake up in the afternoon instead of in the morning. Shops and markets open at 12 noon. In the villages, as a child, they would fall asleep after Isha. Now the world wakes up at twelve o'clock at night. As a result, there is no color on the face and 30 springs are not seen and diseases like blood pressure are appearing. Every other person seems to suffer from depression and psychological problems. Not to be friends with nature, but to take medicine. We don't know the seasons. Chitar, Besakh, Aso, Katak, Pooh, Magh, Jeth, Haar, Sawan, Bhadon, let us go. There is only one December left and a few worn poems. Imaginary lovers have been posting on social media for decades: it's December.
Nature is the companion of the sun. The weather changes because of this. Time goes by like wind. The birds are awakened by its rays. When it sets, the universe comes to a standstill. The first rays of the sun descend on the earth and the birds begin to chirp. As the sun sets, these birds are flying in rows towards their nests. In the villages, at home, there were chickens. They would patrol the peas all day, but before evening they would gather around their derby. The whole system of nature is running with the sun. He is the only human being who has rebelled against nature and problems have settled on his doorstep.
Humans only know once a year that the sun has set and one day they get the news that it has risen. This talisman appears in this world every day. When the sun rises quietly on the lakes immersed in knowledge like fields and doves, the being is refreshed. On a winter's evening, when smoke is rising from a house in the valley and the bells of the herd are ringing, it sets on the other side of the old hill, as if the heart begins to set at the same time.
On Lake Saif al-Muluk, when the day comes after the night of the waning moon, when the evening descends on Fairy Meadows, when the shepherd's flute fills the gloomy moments of the setting sun, and the same lake When you see the first rays of the morning descending on the water of the lake and your tent together at night on the shores of the river, under the influence of the stories of a gypsy, fearing the snow leopard, you want the time to stop. Sometimes when there are holidays, leisure, leisure, try living with the sun for a few days instead of clocks. Believe me, the sun sets every day and rises every day.