Chra Nawzad
I pray you hear me while I am in the middle
of a mourned globe
You no longer reach through the streets,
Neither write nor speak
You are in the voicelessness
But with confrontations,
And anticipation …
How shall I attend this speech?
An eradicated world from sympathy has taken the serenity lives from its root
The color of the streets from its trees..
You do not share this horror ,,
But, this has put a grieve into the skies that no one wishes to remember,
It has left a scar on foreheads of those who wanted you to suffer,
I hear the witty pens scream and mountains are restraint
Flowers and leaves are falling apart
And a pine tree grows everywhere your name is rewritten.
