Qassim haddad biography of mahatma

Home / Political Leaders & Public Figures / Qassim haddad biography of mahatma

I am different!" He has lots of friends, but his enemies are innumerable.

He always feels at danger when he is outdoors. His body is no more able to afford the burden of his soul which slips away like fire that overflows all over a stove. Then I believe that I am able to recognize him. He is venturesome at writing but fogyish in life. Many times, I leave him alone in the room, sick and on the verge of death. He is almost ...

Few hours after his departure, he feels sorry for committing such a foolishness. Perhaps he is still capable to identify with others. That is what makes him like to travel in theory, but does not bear to go abroad when it becomes true. Many times, I become afraid that I wake up one day to discover that he is no more alive. He works on writing like he who builds one's body and soul by words.

I expect he is sick. But this person does not calm down nor is he taken in by the shape of life. To him, writing is but some black lamps held by a blind creature leading a group of people deeply asleep, towards some dreams that are equal to nightmares.

I would recommend him as a remedy for those healthy minds and guarantee them headaches! In the evening, he places his head on my shoulder and begins crying just because a word is still unattainable.

He enjoys making me so scared. I can't bear such not ion, but I am unable to get rid of this companion who frivols with me and pretends that I am he.

That is Qassim Haddad ... He weeps like a dead man elegizing himself. His lies are innumerable. His heart is but a child approaching puberty. He is fond of despair as if hope is dangerous.

He calls what he writes, the last exercise towards death in an unbearable life. He does not leave a thing as it is.