Loneliness

The season of living alone

 I have forbidden nights
 Here are some dreams
 But the interpreter is dead

 Sitting at the central gate of the "Goal Bagh"
 There is a watchman-like boredom.
 That will never end

 I have a village blacksmith
 Which made for the farmers
 Make new cracks on the crust
 But one night the crops were destroyed

 I have a sad sadness
 In the days of Quarantina
 An angel ... under my pillow ...
 Forgot about it

 I have everything
 Except for the rare ones,
 That i'll steal
 From a coffin maker
 Or the old one who always smokes expensive cigarettes ...