Moahammad Maleki

Arrows of poverty darting from throes
Thorns of destitution germinating from thrones

Flood of orphans sprouting on ghettos of misery
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There is a sound within my soul portending a long night of inner-tumult
There is a sound rising from the very compartment of my body
Devouring sanity of logic like a covetous scavenger chewing its victim
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Last night clock stroked 9: 33
Death knocked the door of my isolated room
As if shrouded around a long dark veil
His guise was hidden behind a dull barrier
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he was drowned in the ocean of burned and dry leaves in the jungle of nothing in nowhere

when he got up he noticed a tattered and shabby shackle in distance
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Faint light made its way through the slightest rip in
Penetrated deep into sheer gloomy
Fragmented shards of darkness scattering on floor
Oh, asymmetrical look on stagnant floor boding catastrophe for future
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I always ponder in my lss
Why fortune always eludes me?

But I come to same conclusion every time
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I am not like other people

I have my maddness, my labyrinth twists, my curiocity
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Gloomy, duller than dull, vapid class

Full of reek
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He is alone

Ceded to destination
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When I go to crowds

I can find a bunch of nothing
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From thy mouth
This sorcerer of time
Hours and minutes leaking and droping
On the monster of cruelty
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Yearning for a land

Where its windows have not been enveloped within fetters of curtains
Where there shall not be any metropolis of urbans
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Current of autumnal fog everywhere gush through
And the ghosts of vales and hills trudging all through

Torching sun is rubing her front head over darkness
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Anywhere you are
... seek from downward
The genesis of treasures is buried beneath
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I thought world is palace of dreams
The gargantuan shelter of serenity
The castle of assured future
The orchard of nightingales and euphonic birds
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