Autumn.

Yellow jacket hunter.

In the presence of women, my land flourishes.

The most sorrowful yellow is the color of autumn.

Nasrin says:

If still, the trees in the neighbor’s yard were green.

These days were becoming forty years old.

Waiting for spring.

They were giving their body to the water.

They were sitting in the water…

Narges.

He catches sight of his children and asks:

How old are my children?

He/she cannot smile and asks with a smile:

What year is it sixteen years from now?

I say imagine.

In a short moment of breathing,

Imagine happiness…

Hold your children in your dreams..

No one can.

Take the imagination from you.

And you.

When you don’t like it,

Return to a life in captivity.

Imagine.

Imagine the old four-legged ones.

How they slip under the feet of death.

And nobody knows.

How many years is this year’s autumn?

And the following year’s autumn.

Which one is it and which one is not!

Think.

To those who have been busy withering away for years like Mary.

And today, Naserineh is busy picking flowers, imagine…

Today.

The sound of a nightingale.

The scent of women is my homeland.

The cry of youth is Fatemeh.

“That grows old in captivity.”

It is spread in her heart…

We.

With pictures of beautiful flowers in our gardens.

We will go to the street.

And autumn,

This woman is wearing yellow.

Happiness.

Opposite of always.

It will take us to our homes.