My suffering

I am the one who blamed yesterday

And discovered that he was deaf And spoke to the present

And found him mute

And waited for tomorrow

And noticed that he was blind

I hate war, injustice and envy

Every innocent, homeless creature that hurts me

And I am torn apart for a weak, deprived beggar

Yes, I am the one who read the cup of my fortune

And I was certain that it was false

And I wrote my autobiography

And I was certain that I was not a hero

And I screamed in the face of fate

So I announced that my luck had become idle

I suffer the screams of the defeated

I cry for the wretched and their attributed luck

My blood burns with regret for what was stolen

Yes, I am the one who was weakened by his time by force

So I kept my secret with all moderation

And I swore by life itself by force

To keep up with it without exploitation

Doses of the one who was my only hope

To free my neck from the disease Dalal

Yes, I am the one who drew pictures of his life

And drew lines Most of his hobbies

And I wrote all his thoughts in colors

And I colored the depth of his words with proverbs