Look around the world that in the bedclothes of his broken sleep It is alien to itself.

And look at us, Awake that we are conscious of our own sorrow;

Angry and aggressive We guard our bitter sorrow, We are the sullen guardians of our suffering so that it does not make a mistake from the black frame of the task that we have drawn around it.

And look at the world the world In the innocent slumber of its sleep; What a stranger to himself!

The month passes At the end of its cold circuit.

We are left and The day will not come. A.Bamdad