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Masoud PayandehMehr
Poems
Iran
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Nobody’s there!
If you ask where...
At the end of this long row,
That millions of hands
Are pointing
to the cloudy clouds,
There is only one
Whose umbrella’s open
Thinking of nothing
Laughing at every thing.
He is nobody.
Not, too old, to stay-at-home.
Not, too young, to stand at street.
Alone!
Some where between up and down.
Why stand; let’s walk...
Why silence; let’s talk...
I don't know when
but I know where
I will die.
In your bosom!
Ah Iran.
What is passing on
high in the sky?
A bunch of wondering pigeons.
What is going on
in my mind?
A wave of roaming thoughts.
Is there any white bird?
or etc.
I have to find a cage
for myself?!
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