The tall man stands on the shore, and the short man says, "A little is enough for me." The short man thinks she is small. And they heard the sound of the tamba, and he said, "My lady, it is enough for me." He married a woman named Arriyah. Both of them are the same. My husband lies to me, and I lie to the neighbor. Like the goat's son, he cries, and the barley is in his mouth. The neighborhood children, I gather them, and my stick scatters them. Like the fleas on the bridge, they jump and they leap. Like the white dog's children, they are impure. Like the ten parrots, they talk, and one is deaf. Like the mule of the donkey, its mother bites it, and the one behind it kicks it. Like the Eid bullets, decorated and empty. Like the henna pot, it blooms but does not bear fruit. Like a drunkard who drinks and blocks the canal. Like the slaves, the more they grow, the more they are whipped. Like the land that is plowed with a hoe. Like the seed of the blessed one, all the action is for its mother. Like the donkeys of the poets, they are annoyed. Like the neighbor waiting for the word "Hush!" Like the wood of the date palm, a quintal of wood. On the blood of sugar. Like the world, there is no belief. Like the roosters, they crow without a specific time. Like a promise that is broken, and the future is with him.