Blooming flowers in this garden
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Commander of the IRGC in the Iraqi Army
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The migration of violets from the horror of the stick
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A lifetime of melting a hot season
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The sauce was life with a bitter and spicy taste
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A saw in the mouth with slow rhythms
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Man was a salad of nails, razors and arrows
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Must continue like an old guerrilla
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There are no tears left because of the bomb
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The poet of the shop was permanently sealed
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There was no window, the wall became sound
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Every woman sang in her own blood
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But the torture was not secret
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He kidnapped Sattar before our eyes
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Now that confused confused now that drunk drunk
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Tell me, is there still hope?
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A handful of wet words in the heart of my office
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A sticker in the throat, a colt in the serum
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See my foot where the minefield is
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Headbands of blood are missing in God
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We go on the rope
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Interpretation of our poetry Arar and Qarqar
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Sometimes their razors were stylish with cotton
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The answer to my question was obscene swearing
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There is no silence in the war against Sheghad
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It must be continued as long as the poem is alive
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But the torture was not secret
|
He kidnapped Sattar before our eyes |