A girl on the terrace in front of this is a green shawl,
a simple green shawl that is full of the ashes of the volcano in the evening,
full of the ashes of the wish that burns on her heart every day
, full of the ashes of good dreams that die every night in her eyes
, not long ago, her dream in the street without any excuses,
always blocking the way of her flight, always drawing a line
for her, it is not different for her that she is dead or alive, the
politics of the old and the old Jovana is
always looking for a hero, a poet singing, a
few pictures on the wall of her room, Hedayat Kavga, Farrokhzad, Michael,
a picture of Khatami, a photo of Madonna, a picture of Tom Cruise, a picture of Fidel, it
doesnt make any difference to her, she is all looking for a hero, dead
or alive, she is all looking for a hero, she is all
looking for a hero, she
doesnt know that she has to look for a hero only in the mirror, she
still doesnt believe that with her hands she can make a world without cruelty. And the slave
of a girl on the terrace in front of the concert at night, her screams on the way, she is very
sad, she cant be seen from the night, its dark,
but the bell rings her voice, every night
in a poem whose lights are colored, its been a while since even
the lights of the
intersections are afraid to line up,
I want to remember the whole city, the spring when someone stole its leaves
, the tree that was quarantined, in the end, with the hand that the ground was spinning upside down,
his voice was full, he didnt say anything, his head was full of words. Its a
volcano, a girl on the terrace in front of you, a green shawl every day, a green shawl every day, a
green shawl every day.
