I said I am not of blackness, I said I am not of whiteness, I said what you have seen of me, I
have not seen from the northern regions and the green and wet plains, like rain, I write my simplicity in the body of flowers, I have a warm greeting that trembles, your voice is the sea of generosity, fill me with your jars, the feeling of my strange hands, the feeling of wheat and rice, my blood from the soil and greenery, my heart is the chest of the closet, yes, I am the northerner, it smells of rain. My hand, yes, I am a northerner, I am alive for Iran,
my soil is from a place where the old sea is a relic of ancient times, where desire, happiness, and staying in a shed, a lamp, and a kilim, where the simple miracle of rain gives the scent of orange to the body of the soil, where it is spectacular in the morning and evening on the beach on the damp sands , yes, I am a northerner, it smells like rain, my hand is yes, I am a northerner, I am alive for Iran.
