My heart is the size of my fist, I make my fist for you, my eyes are the size of windows, I watch you frankly, my hand is the continuation of the butterfly, when it burns from your flame, my tears are of the kind of hatred of the poet who is always in a bad way,
your words are honest and I like lies, I like the height of the poets of Forough,
one of us can draw a tear from the stubbornness of this cage, a hundred pigeons from the stubbornness of this cage.One of us can jump to the canary, buy honor with these songs, your words are true and I like lies, I love the height of Foroughs poets,
my heart is the size of my fist, I make my fist for you, my eyes are the size of windows, I watch you frankly, my hand is the continuation of the butterfly, when it burns from your flame, my tears are of the kind of hatred of the poet who is always badly flooded, your words are true and false. I like the height of Foroughs poets, I like your words, I like your truth, I like lies, I like the height of Foroughs poets ..........
