Amin Hosseinioun Poems

I am forced again to face life itself
How come life's hands are so strong?
How do they always turn my face?
Oh, I wish I were blindfolded,
...

There is blood in the cup,
Streets are wet.
(if tea is blood, then of course ground is red)
...

Sky is dark of sugarcanes burning, above Khuzestan
Above Tehran, licks its own blood like one wounded dog,
And pours tears on the bloody smoky streets of metropolis.
...

The eyes, the eyes, the eyes...
piercing, pretty, and blue,
They are always there, maybe always have been,
...