Our garden stood on the shadowy side of wisdom.
Our garden was the interweaving place of feeling and plants,
Our garden was the meeting point of a glance, a cage, and a mirror .
Our garden was perhaps, an arc of the green circle of happiness.
The unripe fruit of God on that day, I used to chew in sleep.
Water I used to drink without philosophy
Berries, I used to pick without knowledge.
In his poems he talks about the relationship between nature and human spirit. They mainly turn around the idea of re-discovering and returning to the roots and appreciating its beauty and
serenity instead of giving in to the down-ward spiral of modern life’s preoccupations. He died in Tehran of leukemia at the