O, witnesses of the night
Exile me
To the most distant point of the universe
In the complex area of the vacuum
Moment by moment
I think about my enjoyment
That night
the voice of calligrapher's pen was heard
And i feigned sleep
I became tired
Time
is my place to act
I have acknowledged my faith
I shall go to the cemetery
To dig a grave for myself
but
The weather is cold
It's snowing
And umbrellas
Have put my burial ceremony off
((Poet: Seyed Morteza Hamidzadeh))
...excellent word flow Seyed, keep up the good work. Cheers Jerry
A very nice piece of work. Keep it up and let us learn from you as well.
'That night the voice of calligrapher's pen was heard And i feigned sleep I became tired Time is my place to act I have acknowledged my faith' An interesting poem beginning with a plea to 'witnesses of the night' for exile and thus we 'Behold Changing Faces Of Persecution The history of religious persecution the names honour roll of martyrs who have died for their faith goes back thousands of years crosses countries continents genders all sections of societies... the above poem interrelates to the theme of your poem which you have written so well.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Poignant write. Keep it up.