abandoned 

Syavash 

for quite a long time
my green hands have turned yellow
wilted flowers have grown in my heart
my mind has had just frozen meats
and I cannot find food 
in the garden or sky

I am too tired to trim shrubs and hedges 
no one shovels the soil 
new clothes are still in moth-balls
old newspapers are all over the floor
and I have lost interest in my mailbox

the alarm clock has lost its voice
the scarecrow has lost its dignity
while no bird still builds a nest 
in the weeping willow

I give up 
hang my soul in the closet
and close the door to spring

​