on writing

seriously, I remember when I was six
When writing came mysteriously and made me feel sixty
It understood me, and made my war-torn city heaven
I understood it as the new oppressed people’s weapon

coffee-bearer

O coffee-bearer brighten my cup with the coffee
Delicious beverage, for God’s friends
O soothsayer, say good fortune is now mine
Little you know why with coffee, I always myself align.
O breeze if by chance you pass through friendly gardens
From me to my Beloved, please give a sign;
Ask why you choose to forget my name?
O Jimale, let a tear drop or two leave your eyes
Hafiz of Shiraz, one of the finest poets from Persia

sweet dream

How sweet sleep is! I dreamed I saw

My love last night

And pampered my poor heart with thoughts

Of Past Delight

Hafez

My life is tragedy

This morning when I woke up,
I saw the Blue Ocean and white sandy beaches
But around me there is disorder

No matter how early I rise with the sun
Instead of the birds singing before the day’s begun
Russian revolvers chatter louder and louder

Instead of the promise of the morning air
Shooting, shelling, killing are the days here,
The roads to somewhere blocked everywhere More

I MET MY SUN

The day is dawning,
like a flower blossoming;
it’s the beauty of your skin

When you walk, the world looks on
When you stop, time stops,
When you smile, all the earth would be yours

This morning, from a distance,
I saw you walking away alone,
I came so close, yet you’re so far,
we meet, yet we don’t

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