the voice of the desert to the dry vein of the trees was to the tired night of ivan bresan bast. taran to the trembling heart, to the desire of winter, to the struggle of the street, to the fever of the troubled soul, open, dear guests, to the tired heart of the world, put your ointment , open the way of the breezes, like the lonely siavash. by passing these fires, break the fierceness of the storm, my homeland iran , light a candle, make the name of god boil , break the claws of the devil, my homeland iran. bring the glad tidings of rain to the breaths of the desert, to the dry veins of the trees, to the tired night of the porch, and to the trembling heart of qonche. wishing for winter to turn the street into a fever distraught, you are leaving your soil again. every time you leave the garden of raya, i see tomorrow's sun in your eyes. iran, i kiss this flag with the love of my iran , make the world rain with flowers, your love is with me, iran , soil, sand, iran, your eyes are bright, iran, all of you, oh, let it be secret, let it be at the top of the world, let it be under our