I peel a pomegranate and say to myself; Weren't it good if one could see,the seeds of people hearts ; Tears come when the juice splashes in my eyes

Life is a dimension of tree in the eyes of an insect. Life is strange sence experienced by a migrating bird....

We are not to comprehend;the secret of roses, but maybeswimming in the incantation of roses.Or may be looking forthe song of truthbetween the morning glory,and the century.

آسمان مال من است

پنجره؛عشق؛هوا؛فکر؛زمین

مال من است

چه اهمیت دارد

گاه اگر می رویند

قارچ های غربت

((سهراب سپهری))

Sure, it's going to kill a lot of people, but they may be dying of something else anyway.

In my eyes, there are no white people, no black people, no any color people. JUST PEOPLE.