That the killers are crying over our graves.

And their screams.

It confuses our mothers’ fuss.

They are sitting on top of the towers, with a sharp camera.

They are following all the details.

Growing up in “Deobandi” schools.

Until the bomb was strapped to his back.

And he/she/it sighed heavily.

In the hidden alleys of “Dasht-e Barchi” neighborhood..

Wonder.

Running.

Fear.

Running.

These are the tools of intoxication.

And if it’s hidden.

Shivon is looking for something.

Drying feet.

And then silence.

Heavy silence…

At night, they come down from the towers.

The flowers have made the house a sad place.

They suddenly turn on the TV.

The great leaders awaken the nobility of peace.

And in the Security Council, they raise their hands higher…

You see.

Eiffel Tower

Burj Khalifa.

Freedom Tower.

They have turned off.

“To our burnt bodies’ joy.”

They cry on our graves.

Killers.

On our grave.

They are laughing so joyfully!