"A window to see
A window to hear
A window that, like a tubular well, reaches at its end the heart of the earth
And opens to the vastness of this recurring blue kindness
A window that saturates the little hands of loneliness
With the nightly munificence of the fragrance of the generous stars
And from thence
It is possible to invite the sun to the loneliness of the geraniums
Just a window is enough for me"

(From "Window" by Frough Farrokhzad - Translated by: Shirin Tabibzadeh & Melinda Barnhardt)

Oh my friend, my incomparable friend:

Shirin Tabibzadeh

Life is even worse
Love even more scarce
Laughter forbidden
People all in despair

Doors are locked
Windows are sealed
Souls are crushed
Thoughts are enchained

Greens turned yellow
Springs changed to fall
Winds are vicious
"Sparrows" are in pain

"Butterflies are crucified"
Simple embrace, a sin
Thinking, a crime
Trespassers are in jail

"Just a window" is enough for me too

A window, that opens to the sun to feel its warmth.
A window, that opens to the vastness of the horizon where the blue sky and the good earth so carelessly embrace.
A window to feel fresh air on my skin, to hear the "songs of canaries" with my heart, and "the love making" of the "white doves."
A window, that opens to the green meadows of love and laughter, passion and compassion, peace and joy. To the young fields of tulips and roses caressed by the cool, "vagabond" breeze.

"Just a window" is enough for me too.

I am weary of war, explosion, bombarding, beheading, and massacre of innocent children. My brain is filled with sad news, bad news, and ominous memories.

The disheartening memory of that woman who happened to love "the flowers and the fish", the same woman whose face was mutilated before her still tender flesh was wrapped in her shroud to be placed in her unknown grave to turn to dust.

The heartrending memory of that 16 year old girl whose hanged fresh body was swaying back and forth by the wicked wind. She too wished "to love and love and love."

Or the 13 year old girl, whose young life will come to an end by the rain of stones. Let 's see who can cast the first stone.

Oh my friend, the winds are still blowing, strongly blowing, and our yard is "lonelier" than ever.

I yearn for those days that you wrote "those days."