Kashani
Was child in fifth grade
And my age around ten,
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Revolution
Days go by
Requests increase and come by
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My ears
My ears, these spies
do their work and have fun
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A candle in the heart
From them, Creoles
I receive the emails
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Burning heart
My art is on the wall; is like me
we, comet and stars, fire-worm
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Art in nudity
Be careful what you read
digest it and take in
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That mosque
You read and, I read and, do others
a poem, a report, a message
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Damn Radios
I wish that radio was never invented
a damn box that mother said it was:
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