In the heavy silence of the mountains
Where the delicate crescent of the moon
Had nestled in a corner of the clouds
Out of fear
And the proud peak
Had placed the white turban of peace
Upon its head
The winding solitude of the path
Was asleep in the darkness
And the roaring whispers of the river
Were revealing
A phantom from the furnace of madness
To the gaze of the melancholic traveler
The dim light towards the lantern
Did not remain in anticipation of the event
Suddenly a rooster
Cried out on the roof
And the echo of the old age
Pulled the silence of the house underneath
The only sad eye was the moon's
That shed a bitter drop
Into the fountain of rainy clouds
Arsalan - Tehran
Twenty-eighth of Ordibehesht, 1403
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