A Poem To Alice !

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   …You are a woman I don’t count her
Neither by hours nor by days
You are a woman ….
Has made from the fruits of the poetry
And from the gold of the dreams
You are a woman … were living inside of me
Before millions and millions years….
My beautify Woman…
…. who is made from the Cottons and the clouds…
…who is the river from NAHAWAND…
Forest made of ceramic….
…Who flows like the fishes inside the water in a HEART
And live inside the eyes like the feather of a pigeon…
Nothing can be changed in my emotions
In my feelings ….
In my warmth…. In my faith...
I will keep on the way of Islam…..
Don’t worry about the rhythm of the time and the names of heavens
You are a woman and you will remain a woman … all the time …
I will love you ….
In the beginning of twenty second century …
In the beginning of the twenty fifth century ….
In the beginning of the twenty ninth century …
And I will love you ….
When the sea will become dry ….
When the forest will burn….
You are the conclusion of the poems
And a flower in all the freedoms
It is enough to pronounce you name …
To become the king of the poetry…
The pharaoh of the words…
And it is enough for me to be loved by you
To be in the books of history ….
And the flags will raise for me ..
There is nothing can fill my eyes
Not the lights…..
And not the ornaments …
And not the bells of EIDs….
And not the Christmas tree…
And the roads don’t mean to me anything.
And the Discos don’t mean anything to me

I don’t remember except your voice
When the bells ring on Sundays
I don’t remember expect your partum
When I lay and sleep on the herbs..
And I don’t remember except your face..
When the snow melt on my cloth …
What makes happy
When I fly like a scared bird.
Between the forest hills…
And what charms me …
When you dedicate me a pen of Your Pens.
So I hug it …
And I sleep like The Children…
How I wish I loved you in the old centuries …
In the century of photograph…
In the century of black and white
How I wish I met you one day
In my way ….
In my place …
In my Village …
You r the First woman of poetries
Give me your right hand to hide inside it …
Give me your left hand …
To live inside it ….
Say any sentence …
And let The Celebrations start…

H o n e y B e a r