In The Mourning Of Freedom (Dedicated To The Poeple Of Iran) Poem by azadeh Davachi

1

The words are suicide
In the magic of the days
Here, some words are missing
We can see mendacity on the roofs
We can light a candle
Cheers for the sound of a baton

2

What an aggrieved morning!
When the Allah sound of each pray
Becomes the lumbar on each passenger’s throat
What a hard salute!
When the prostration of each alley
Becomes the ablution of its land’s murders
The prisons have the colors of fables
And the terms are colorless in the
Silence of the days.

3

So many suns
And the night is a fond of star’s darkness!
So where the homeless martyrs
Who are crying for our freedom songs
The night is not so long,
And the bum is not silent


4

I sell my grave to a mother who
Is in the excess of loneliness
So smooths her throat
With a sound of old gravedigger
And say: 'My child!
We should call to prayer
This city would never wake up'