Instead of my eyes
there are sunglasses
The whole world will be colored...

به جای چشمانم
عینک آفتابی گذاشته ام
...تمام جهان رنگی خواهد شد

If you miss me at the midnight
Then talk to the sky full of stars
and feel me in the moonlight
I'm with you, don't make tears!

If you need me in the morning,
Then just look at the rising sun
and I will be with you, darling
when you usually go for a run.

If you feel me in the afternoon
So you come to the lake alone
and enjoy my voice in the loon
Bring the love back, nothing's gone!

If you feel like singing with me
then just sing with the crickets,
You can read me with some tea
in the evening, like other poets!

This poetry is ever new for me
I cannot read it out, what I see.
I wrote that with my poetic soul
Now I feel it has a magnetic pole.

Poets feel happy for their words
Like a couple of romantic birds.
Poets make dreams and hopes
with love and some bookshops.

Love makes me a poet and wild
and makes me feel like a little child.
I've been killed by a poetic lover,
This love is ever true and rare!

When I am a young poet
I love to make my dreams
come true like sunbeams.
I never want to be late.
Love dreams of me, I bet!

I would shine the world
with my lovely poems.
I will make the streams
and just won't be ribald.
Love will come to me, I bet!

Lately my soul screams
for the beautiful nature,
Lives are like ice creams
and all souls will be a vapor!
That will happen, I believe it.

I love you and the creation
Please lemme stay a while!
God, I need your supervision
I bow to you and always will!
I always want to be perfect.

Eyes lost
in waiting,
Silently
looking in vain,
Despite it,
He kept them
widely opened,
Carefully,
Silently,
He put it away
on the old
wood table.

Carefully,
refolding
his courage
lifting up
ferrous arms
stripping
Carefully,
a tinny piece,
rolling himself
in still noise
a cigarette of
Powerful
low-graded
rustika,
a variety of
great purge
hunger
killing
good reason,
one pack a day
helped.

It helped survive
the cold,
and everyday
toil when
soldiers and ants
starved,
Makhorka,
insecticide
of freedom.

Silently,
looking in vain,
Despite it,
He kept them
widely opened,
Carefully,
Silently.

Do you ever feel
that there is a greater story
living inside you than the one
you wake up to
each day,
one richer,
more prismatic,
where you can dress
in your bohemian voice,
open oak paneled doors
once denied you,
become all the radiant
seasons speckled
in russets
and autumn golds,
pale peonies,
and Titanium whites?  

Do you ever imagine
the mirror's reflection
as the real you
standing beyond your
mind's limitations?  
What would it take
to awaken
on the opposite
side of your thoughts,
to dream in excess
& possibility beyond
the confines of this
reality to a world
where you become
all that you can imagine?