This postman

Put in my palm

A little sky and a few stars and a bit of greetings

Repeatedly walked to number 49 and returned

To see where the river that doesn’t exist pours

The sound of the bird who sat behind the window

Poured into the middle of the room

If you open the window

You’ll see the third line

In one of the letters I forgot to write

They came and killed and burnt

They took away that same third line

The postman wrote on the envelope

No news on the western Andisheh 2

 

16 March 2002

 

Tehran, North Sohrevardi Road, West Andisheh 2 St.