On Elk Road, trees talk,
They whisper resistance:
“Break rocks…”
I stood and observed,
They played; I listened,
Focused eyes on dancers.
Saw the roots and trunks,
Leaves slapped the drums,
Branches and the boughs.
Each one had miracles,
Deep inside the forests,
They cherished freedom.
Free hates the gardens,
Those trees planted,
Those trimmed, narrated.
The roots on a slope,
Swallowed the stones,
It rode on a mountain.
Trees are miracles,
Trees are miracles,
When free, if ever!
Mazda,
To you, is a car.
Mazda,
To me is God.
Worlds apart in faiths, thoughts,
We can live side by side.
A mountain child is A copy of an eagle.
Observes the world from above and wide.
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"Cultures & Expressions," is the core of this site.
We believe in Saadi:
"Adam's children are limbs to one frame,
All were created from the same gem.
When a limb feels the pain,
Discomfort hurts the rest.
Of the miseries, unaware,
Shan't be named a 'Human.'"
A mountain to me, a mountain child means home.
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"Cultures & Expressions," takes is the core of this site and my heart.
I do not like borders and divisions, of any kind.
I am a mountain child and a copy of an eagle.
traveling is like blood in my veins.
Flying high and around, like an eagle makes me see everything under or above the covers.
Flying high and around, like an eagle makes me see everything under or above the covers.
Nassy Fesharaki
https://www.instagram.com/nassy.fesharaki/