All rivers head for the sea...

All rivers head for the sea, the sea is not full, then they belong to the position from which the rivers flow there so as to flow again: And when you hear him saying: “I am the flower of sharoon and the lily of vallyes, like a lily among thorns, so my sweetheart among girls like an apple in the trees of wood, so my love among the boys. I longed for, then I sat in his shadow, and his fruit is sweet in my mouth.

Flowers have appeared in the earth, and time of harvest came, the voice of pigeon has been heard in our land.” “O’ my dove which is in the pits of rock and secrets of castles, show me your countenance, make me hear your voice, as your voice is nice and your visage sweet, until the day breezes and shadows are defeated. O’ my love return and be like a deer or some stag on Bater Mount. “Beautiful you are, O’ my sweat heart!

Beautiful you are and your eyes are like two doves behind your veil, your hair is like a herd of goats, appearing from Jal’ad Mount. Your lips are like a bunch of scarlet, your speech is sweet. Your checks are like one-half promgranate behind your veil. Your neck is like David’s tower buit for weapons a thousand shields were footened to it all the shields of tyrrants. Unitl the day breezes and shadows vanquished go ahead to Al-Mar Mount and Al-Labban Hill come with me from lebanon, O’bride.

Look with me from Lebanon, from Amanah’s head from Harmoon’s head, from folds of lions, from mountains of tigers. Your lips drop honey, O’ bride, and beneath your tongue, a honey and yogurt the fragrance of your dress is like that of Lebanon.

“Fountain of Paradise, a well of living water and rivers from Lebanon, O’ north wind blow, O’ South come, and breeze upon my paradise so that its sweets are poured!” If you heard that, and realized it rightly, you understood that Sulaiman dirnks his poetry from the same fountain from which Christ has been satisfied, even if the topic differs.

Also one of that is the saying of Victor Hugo, one the great genius artists after the French Revolution, it is a dialogue among the planets in which the peot makes us see the human as being lost, and that he together with the earth he live on, are to disappear, because they are diminishing inside the wideness of the one wonderful cosmos: What is this worthless weak voice which whispers? O’ earth, what is the aim of your circling in your narrow, finite horizon?