I want to go back to Isfahan, go back to that half of the world, go there, sit next to the Zayandeh River, sing from the bottom of my heart, songs, poems, songs, poems, and songs, my own songs , poems, and anthems, my heart there, all
my secrets and needs there , oh God, my love, my friend, that sweet flower, what should I say there, with whom should I empty my heart complex, with what language, should I make my pain feel like this , the
sky cries over it. My dear one, I have shed tears in that house, I have become my companion from the grief of his grief, I have become a companion of the meadow, like the night of the song of blood, I have become drunk and crazy, I have become drunk and crazy, by God, my heart is full of sorrow, the whole world is hell for me, whatever I say, I am still short of this burning of my heart, I am still little, what should I
say to whom, to whom should I empty my heartache? I
want to go back to Isfahan and go back to that half of the world.
