Turkish hands
Kurd lips
The eyes of Baluch
Your stature has seeded in the Arian lands
...
The day will come
when the night is gone
white and black chessmen don't win together
A song is been throat in the lane's tears
...
Maybe i shouldn't write
It's not seen anything in dark nights
even you see dark if
look at the sun too long
...
Have dressed all pains
Have drunk all drinks
The world has become shaky on my neck
Have pricked up my ears
...
Come and take picture with me
This stone frame
is fallen alone
All of those dreams was dusty
...
Poemland
Turkish hands
Kurd lips
The eyes of Baluch
Your stature has seeded in the Arian lands
Germinate
Hive's daughters
I'm dripping my heart
So much you look like a revolver
Presia beats in the heart of the poetry books.