O My baby, Love to You, my Dad, Love to You from my heart.
Your cry was: Save me, Mom!
Oh Zihad, Love and Love and kiss to your face, your eyes, your small laughing!
Ah my Zihad, your sweet laugh is not fleer,
but now, after your death, the sweet laugh makes an independent sense
and throw fleer to talkative minister, senseless officers of police, fire brigade, wasa, developer, specialist of BUET
No comments:
Post a Comment