The work of poetry is over, it is time to read the elegy. مرثیه می‌خواند

And he sang a lament for us, and how long will he continue to sing this lament, he sings a lament. وله می‌آید

Not everything is flowers and nightingales! Bullets come out of the barrel of a gun.

You don’t go, they’re just joking. Birds sing playfully, but they also get serious.

“Sauce, it smells like blood! I don’t have the patience for poetry, in the end, Mahsa.”

Nika and Baktash will be in Zahedan on the last Friday of the month.

Poverty, corruption, inflation, and countless others… are no longer poetic.

I have no patience for poetry.