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Have You Seen Me?

The old palm
Does not open his mouth
And the playful wind
Has no secret
But the rustling of dry leaves.
In the darkness of night,
I open the mailbox
And I stare at the face of a man
Who, one day, was wandering around
In the cold streets of Tehran
And today lives at the end
Of that narrow hall.
Majid Naficy
MajidNaficy@yahoo.com
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