You, my friend
Know me! You claim
And, I try to do, exactly the same
White pages we are, virgin fresh snow
Proudly you say:
“I am American.” but I
Lost identity with no confidence,
Am I International, an Iranian or Canadian?
We raise our glasses, slash the curtains
But sometimes laughingly, neatly you complain
“How dare you criticize me? Am I not a friend? ”
I remain silent, Tellez, layers filled with pain
I told you, times and times again.
Sure you have heard me, a kettle’s whistle.
The deep wound is made with a pair of tweezers
Not by you my dear, lovely-simple friend
By pretenders, claiming to be our shepherds
Yours pushed too deep and hard
Mine, slavish, extreme extend
Ugly American to me, was sold, American Hero
See the movie please, if you need to know
Watch it with my heart, also wear my eyes
Marlon Brando is there, and reveals a lot
I saw it, but forced, and badly disguised
Never shall I, my American friend
Go against your way when is of love
No burning words, intending to hurt
Not you my dears, ninety-nine percent
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem