Old tavern
The ashes of a heartburned one bear no mark of the butterfly's wing,
Silk surrendered to fire knows no stranger's sorrow.
Binding one's heart to your tresses adds countless fervors,
A single loop of your chain lacks no madman.
In the alley of the old tavern,
make me by the wine cup,
For worldly insistence finds no place in this abode.
Copyright © Mohammadreza Pooraghabala | Year Posted 2024
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