Poems
Bleeding hands I see the hope in wings Of thousand birds begin to fly Something there on the wet sideway Is the cause of dropping bloods From the feeding hands of some men Sitting in peace on the bench Then I learn myself among those hands All alone with red staring eyes Watch the birds as they begin to fly Here you can learn an unknowing; Mystery, today tomorrow In every pages of our history In which the sound of wings Is lost in the misty horizon Of thousand clapping hands for you You dirty pig dirty dogs The lost ring is the cause Of our own weak bleeding hands… *********** Ehsan ehsan2kaf@hotmail.com |
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