Mehdi Hajizadeh Poet I do not know?

I Cringe When the Smoke Comes

I cringe when the smoke comes
Of the crippled boy leaning on the ground
Creeping toward the sounds
Of the birds of love, celebrating
A cremation party with bounce.


I cringe when the smoke comes
 To the hardy knight’s pout
Under the hyena’s slurping sounds,
To the immolated pigeon on the ground.

I cringe when the smoke comes
When a holy page burns
Bunches of lilacs and roses.

And I cringe and cringe
Whenever the smoke comes!

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