Home Poem by Mina Lotfi

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Rating: 5.0


Ten o'clock,
Full of words
Play on my mind
In one row
My silent broken
Still there is time,
For dinner
Up hill there is home
Small one
Some old rugs
Som old dish
Grape branches on the wall
My shadow behind
What a view
On that sight
What is this feeling
Feel of being or happiness
Still I am in dream,
Of the house
Gazing all the night
Do you know why I am singing
There is uncompleted word
In my heart
Calling you to see, to feel
To read my song on the hill

Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: love
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Mohammad Ahmadizadeh 20 January 2016

happiness will be comlete when a love song is sung inside the heart. Nice work. Thanks for sharing it and with 10

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