I am a rope
I wrap on a bouquet
The griefs which fall down of eyes
In memory of the birds
Will never come back homes
I hold butterflies together in a bouquet
To fly in the tears of love
To flap in the mist of wait
I am a rope
I suck greedily the light of pupils
To grow as flowers or leaves or birds
At the weaving time of carpets
I am a rope
I keep rosary beads together
To elongate to the heaven
In the hand of a pious
To keep more beautiful houri on the lap
I travel from calloused hands
To the grasping deep pockets
I connect the camels in a caravan
I count the number of beads in a rosary
And number of houris on a lap
And number of camels in a caravan
I am a rope
I lace the boots for the flying foot
To kick in the mouth to remain silent
In a dark jail
I help to break silence
With breaking sound of teeth
I am a rope
I go into the overbearing hand
To keep calloused hands and broken words
With a thin neck together
To hang them on a gallows
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem