Her hair long
It is brown, not blonde
And body
Thin and tall
How should I?
Where from?
Her skin, fresh young
But some moles, all is fine.
That takes me to Shiraz
Hair on breast
When I said “She ain’t mine”
Yet she is on my mind.
What is this?
What is called beauty?
How is that well-defined?
I am lost, I am lost.
I like the beaver
I look at groundhog
I’m amused, by squirrel
I sit and watch the birds
Don’t kill them
Let them fly
Let them fly
Let them fly
Thanks to them
I see the
Blue sky
Blue sky
That is my beauty
God, Allah
That is my prayer
Though I praise that girl too
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem