For the first time, the poet of "I hate your religion, curse your religion" reads the unpublished parts of this poem in his own voice

Although our hands are tied, our painters are bent
Although in the silence of homelessness, the broken corner of our voice

Although no one has mercy on the dead and the living
I swear by the purple blood and the hot blood of souls

Stay waiting for the day, which will heal the tongues
Stay like a breast-burning arrow, sitting in the heart of bows

The tongue sighs, the bones are stuck
Wait for the domain to be taken, revenge for the blood of these young people

Woe to you, Yazid, drunk on power
Bada to this position and custom and title

I swear to broken-hearted mothers
By the cold sigh of the hopeless

Bada to the pulpit that became a ladder
From the breastbone of the martyrs

Bada to the rule that its scholars
Open hands and closed eyes of conscience

O unfaithful Kufians, today we and you
I hate your religion, curse your religion

From your forehead calluses and heavy hearts
Oh city, cursed people
O world  that has become irreligious, from your disgraceful promise

The full video of the conversation with Shahabuddin Mousavi, the poet of Yazd's religious poems, on the Rumble Abdi Media channel:

https://rumble.com/c/c-6797570