Ladhai Al Katheer Jiddan Li Aqoulou Lak | Hussam Mustafa Ibrahim

After you, things pass me by and I cross them, without one of us stopping in front of his owner or paying attention to him. No passion, no willingness to move a finger, no energy. I shake the love tree vigorously, and it falls off rotten fruit. I mean the river of affection, not water, and the fish - which did not escape - were lying on their backs. I'm milking the breasts of memories, oozing pus. I bet on the trails of oblivion that time will one day drag over my memory, so that the killer and the murdered, the slaughtered and the slaughtered, and everyone lies - at the end of the film - next to each other with foolish affection in a white grave, for which no one knows a witness.