Moahammad Maleki Biography

Arrows of poverty darting from throes
Thorns of destitution germinating from thrones

Flood of orphans sprouting on ghettos of misery
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There is a sound within my soul portending a long night of inner-tumult
There is a sound rising from the very compartment of my body
Devouring sanity of logic like a covetous scavenger chewing its victim
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Last night clock stroked 9: 33
Death knocked the door of my isolated room
As if shrouded around a long dark veil
His guise was hidden behind a dull barrier
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he was drowned in the ocean of burned and dry leaves in the jungle of nothing in nowhere

when he got up he noticed a tattered and shabby shackle in distance
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