I paint the day
for you, for the last rites
of sun.
Embracing the dark
to dissolve the boundaries.
I will question, something
else, not about the stoned moon.
The other side of the
thin hijab, was a humiliated truth.
Facts were always knifed.
Something moves
harshly to break the silence.
A pink self betrays the denial.
How mandatory it
was to keep on gooding
the blue flames!
There is no family
of the bohemian.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
sir very nice thoughts. thanks for sharing