behzad: Take my hands. I am your poet.
O desperate soul, with warm hands, take my hands. I am your poet.
And I have come with this body to join you.
O good, O my brother, life without completion is a kind of death. I am your poet.
O good, O my brother, my cold hands…
… I wake up to your booming voices and I am forced to pray for you.
O good, Or my brother, life without completion is a kind of death.
… I am your poet.