In a knapsack of bitter life - Farrokh Tamimi

A dumb halo of sorrow lurks in Shirin's cold gaze,

And this is the friendship of centuries and centuries of death.
We saw the fare welling hands,
They were sickly.
It was the hand of age,
it was the hand of the millennium.

I saw the fare welling hands,
They were sickly,
When my hand
Touched her cold and long fingers
Which was from the family of the wailing reed
It gripped an eternal grief in its fist
The pen broke
And pain
Like black drops of ink
dropped on our papery hearts.
I saw the fare welling hands,
They were sickly;