نگران نباشید

“Anchor her, anchor her, anchor her! I am with you, you who should not worry.” و اندیشه

From the graves, from the stones that are the remnants of history, from the prevalence of love and thought.

Among the remaining words of Azar-e-Siah, from the smile of the poet. تمایلاتش

“In the last line of life in exile, from human thought and desires.”

The exercise of compassion from the anthem of freedom in the thoughts of the deceased in the soil.

I am afraid of the thought that you have killed the poet’s imagination, which was full of fresh poetry. است

It has just sprouted, from its diluted red blood. ز هم ترسید

“And you were afraid, with your feet trembling beneath you! You cowards, once again you were scared.” به هم بزنید

I am you! What is your name? You have come, mix the lines together. هم رشد می‌کنند

Surround and gather the young clusters of wheat that are growing together. همانطور که می‌دانید

Graves have sprouted, burn the grudges in the fearful hearts; as you know. ای من

“I trust you, I am with you! You defend my friends for me.” ای خانواده

They tie their hands with handcuffs, they commit suicide in prison, and they bring fresh bread for their family. تازگی پخته‌اید

Please take your plates, but please be a little shy about the bread that you have just baked.

You are being suppressed. I tell my mother: How is the government? خیابان‌ها می‌ترسد!

He is afraid of the streets! He says: even the government is afraid of the dead! He is afraid of the streets!

The graves, which show their lack of identity, from the songs and lullabies of mothers. تا اشک‌های مادر

They sing in the ears of children and on graves; from the tears of the child, to the tears of the mother. غم

On the grave of my father, from the wrinkles on the faces of mothers, burning with sorrow. ال‌هایشان را به دست داشت

Execution of the child from the wounded face of the grieving veiled women who held their claws in hand.

They drag with shame on their skin and sing of their wounds. تو

“My throat is choking, mother says: “Dawlat, Dawlat, from you.” کارگری می‌ترسد

Everyone is afraid! The government is afraid of us workers, the government is afraid of the continuation of the pulse of labor. از برگ

The teacher is in government custody, from the hair of the girl and from the tree from the leaves.

The government is from the newly woven nest of birds, not from what does not exist.

And he is afraid.