The blue sky and the stature of the minarets, the dome and the bouquets of flowers that have gestures , crows at sunset are buzzing and tumultuous on the sycamore trees, each of them has a place, the air of the Imamzadeh is always sacred, there is nostalgia in you, there is a breath of adultery with a black chador, with a net on my face , they arrive with a covenant and in such a way that you have a hundred secrets hidden in everyones heart, you can tell them all in an instant.The air of the shrine is always sacred, there is a shallow heart in you.
