Crayons Poem by fatemeh zolfagharian

History
Wounded, washed-up
Was flipping through its pages
Mourn
Grief
Pain
War
And sometimes a tiny smile
Looked at its crayons
The black
The red
Were the shortest
The Blue
The green was tall
With the source of regret
Touched the yellow and pink pencils
But its mind was darker Than to paint the peace
The love
Wished with inside
My god
If you leave the earth to a little child
A girl, that knows nothing of war
Nothing of judge
Nothing of lie
She will paint a lot of atonal smiles
Tiny buildings would never fall
boundaries embraced each other lines
Immortal flowers
Thousands of butterflies
Where is no trial
Just for dolls
They are angry with each other
And impatient for ally!