Lady Khurshid, who has a thousand handmaidens on her chest in the heart of the night, the fence of the fog is holding her way, look at her as if you are in the hand of a wolf, the dream of the garden is a paper sleep, the eye of
God is
cloudy, it is all rain so that the migratory swallows say to the garden, in two days it will be spring, the old
tree,
you will be new, spring will come again, you will ride, you will ride in the evening, you will be the vanguard, you will be tired at noon, you will be the shadow . Dont think about the night, the sugarcane melts, the springs in the desert are all filled with water , the barrier of distance, they are all ruined, they are framed like a picture of Pirasir,
Uncle Nowruz, the story is good, dont tell him, dont tell him that its too late, the pigeon will fill the curtain to the canvas of the
star again , the cages are empty of birds full of light, where are you a bird, the black captive of your homesickness, soon
with Nowruz, the bride will die in our hearts, the bride is torn, why worry about the city of love and light? When you arrive on time , the icy hands break our heads, they make the hot flowers of young love, the air of the village is cleared again, the black demon of smoke is destroyed, the cry is vaporized, the sky is arched,
