AT THE TABLE OF THE WIND

An old man,
With his back wretchedly bent,
Asking his cane for a dose of life;
And a young man,
On the galloping horse of pride,
Wanting the whole world
For his racecourse:

Now,
        the flight of dust,
And the eyes of regret
Darken;
Now,
        at the table of the wind
The Earth waits
For a new guest to descend.

 

Mahmud Kianush

 


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