" have bound our hearts to "the without trace
Which every year would paint spring
With the wild colors of poppies and water lilies
On the gray canvas of earth
It endures the winter's cold
With the dream of sunlit branches
And from the loud call of the loving birds
It would pour the river’s song
Over the thirst of the plain
From the unseen wheat of some paradise
We planted the seed of hell
In the womb of the earth
Causing the dance of the flowing springs
To wither from the evil eye of our gaze
The pigeons of the well
Fearing the fall of their cries
Bit the seal of silence on their lips
And the clusters of celestial fruit
Terrified by the ominous night
Crawled to the shameful corner of the clouds
It seems
" are stranded in "timelessness
Where each time
On the bloodied stake of fate
The tall cypress and poplar trees
Are hung with lights and celebrations
So that in the trivial market of town and street
Now and then
A useless plant
Can flaunt itself
And from the unknown of purgatory
Place the dreadful shadow of doubt
On the throne of judgment
Arsalan, Tehran
1st July 2024
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