On a stool, staring at my computer’s soul through the screen

I stole my mother’s saffron on the run from the wild things

To Freedom out from Tehran’s claws

Trying to stay sane but who can I blame if I can’t speak the truth?

This rose water blood drinking my grandfather’s pain

Trying to make a fake connection to my own struggles like a toupee

My thoughts come mildly affected

By them and the light they projected

No choice but to clash with a battle

The War brought me here to cast its shadow

One seed would grow their beliefs

Can’t lose the need to struggle

Just another piece of the revolutionary puzzle

Scantily clad tears wearing thin over years

And now I must do what is meant to be done, because talk is cheap

Educationally high-strung

What I do, the Farsi I weep, I think is best for who I keep.