چقدر و چند ازين پرنده ها بغلت داري بپروازان همه را من آمده ام
آماده ام
از آسمان کاغذ خالي ميبارد آغشته کردي آغشته مرا به خون خود بپروازان حالا

Everyone knows,
everyone knows
that you and I have seen the garden
from that cold sullen window
and that we have plucked the apple
from that playful, hard-to-reach branch.

My unseen friends, alike Falling Stars,

such landed on the stabbed heart of the earth that I said:

The Earth will forever be left with no blaze

The Earth will forever be left a darken night...

Life is perhaps
a long street through which a woman holding
a basket passes every day

Life is perhaps
a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch
life is perhaps a child returning home from school.

Life is perhaps lighting up a cigarette
in the narcotic repose between two love-makings
or the absent gaze of a passerby
who takes off his hat to another passerby
with a meaningless smile and a good morning .