The world is like your face ibrahim
The world is like your face Ibrahim
Let me blame you Ibrahim
You are so far that I can't hear your heartbeat!
Nostalgic for those days when the sun shined on the top of books
In order to light this city
Nostalgic for those afternoons, sweat on your face resembled the smell of hot bread
Nostalgic for those evenings, which we were leaving quickly to catch up with life and we couldn't catch up with
Nostalgic for many things...
I would like to come again in the morning, and ask about you and they tells me:
(He hasn't come yet until he comes, the life comes till our knees).
At noon, lean on the shelves of your books and say with sorrow :
(Look at these people they were jewels, inside the seashell of this country they became rocks!)
When, Ibrahim?
We sit by the side of the road with sorrow, wiping the dust from life
We open our hearts window and talk about its breaks
We look at the pages of our life and put our hands on the lines of our wounds
When ibraham, when?
For once, we say to some: We also live in this country
It may be no nice to say this, but really most of us are shattered
destroyed, as a street in Halabja
But with all this ...
Everyone wants you to hope, to deceive them with a little light in this complete darkness
Everyone wants you to smile, to forget the great funeral of this world
Everyone sings to a red rose, without seeing the cyanosis of their hearts!
But they don't know
They don't know ... the world is like your face, Ibrahim.
I am sure ...
I am sure this time we came back again without anything changed
The sleepers do not even wake up by the pain of lif's wounds
Those who extinguish the lamp, in front of the light lose themselves
Those who walks with convoys, love to extinguish the fire of loneliness
sure we will return Ibrahim ...
On a night we will go to a pub, we place our memories on the pillars of our drunkness
Late in our homes, we miss loved ones who became wounds in our hearts
Sell your jewelry ibrahim
Sell your jewelry and see how ...
Our dreams are like pigeons, playing at the corners of the window of our lives
How did this nation fall into the hands of these fishermen, who see every word like a bird
How did we hold our grip on the chest of our youth, and aging came in our face
Sell your jewelry...
But whatever we do
This world will remain sad like your face, Ibrahim.
Nabaz goran
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