Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poems

I see four nurses dressed in white
Four half breaths masked in blue
Helping who lying in street
Someone who about to leave
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"In memory of Dr. Heshmatollah Oghazian,
dedicated to his daughter, dear Olga whom I would call Olgatarin" 19/1/2022

My writings
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To acknowledge the memory of a loving couple, Mrs. Izaura Martins Cunha & Sir. Albertino Sabino da cunha — -
Dedicated to their daughter, my dear friend, Dr. Cristiane Martins Cunha.
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There are always people who feel rain

And others who only easily become wet, whether they feel or not.
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I run out of questions
When from the snow that night
Only a footprint of witness is alive.
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I would always tell people "If you want to change the line of your life and re-write all the stories behind, do not go to visit psychologists anymore, just try to buy a new Kitchen Table instead".

When it comes with a refreshing waking up at the most earliest morning time, that's exactly where the new story begins to give you a warm dish even if that's not much on the table, two unconditional hottest hands on even if nobody have taken other seats, a real sense of sublimity to see whatever of positivity even if your eyes are half-opened and a white reborn version of your new being even if what you had worn so far has been all black-colored memories.
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At the end,
I will be the actor,
the same as promised by Masoud Kimiai.
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It's a shame again in a bomb party
the tablecloth dances with boots
A sevage memory is again captured
by a historical flash of cameras
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