Shab Ke Shod Fedi - شب که شد

Originally by Kourosh Yaghmaei, Gole Yakh has become a persian hit across generations. I hope you enjoy this rendition of the song featuring the beautiful vocals of Emma (iweirddo)

Watch the music video on instagram

Gole Yakh - Keyhan Flip (feat. Emma)

حرم _ ویگن
ترانه‌سرا: فریبا وکیلی
با آهنگسازی کوروش یغمایی

حرم - ویگن

Niaz (cover)

Noor | RoadMusic.ir 

Noor | Sina Sae              نور | سینا ساعی

آرمان گرشاسبی-از تو گفتم

Arman Garshasbi - Az To Goftam Piano Version

ﻣﻦ ﻓﻜﺮ ﻛﻨﻢ ﺟﻬﺎن دﻳﮕﺮی ﺑﺎﺷﺪ….
ﺑﺮای ﻣﻦ ﻛﻪ ﻧﻪ ﺑﺮای ﺷﻌﺮﻫﺎﻳﻢ
وﮔﺮﻧﻪ ﻣﻦ ﻛﻪ ﺧﻨﺪه دار ﻣﻴﻤﻴﺮم!
ﻣﻦ و ﺗﻤﺎم ﻧﺎﺗﻤﺎم عیب ﻫﺎﻳﻢ…
ﻣﻦ ﻓﻜﺮ ﻛﻨﻢ ﺟﻬﺎن دﻳﮕﺮی ﻫﻢ ﻫﺴﺖ
ﺧﺪا ﺑﮕﻮ ﺟﻬﺎن دﻳﮕﺮی داری
ﻛﻪ ﻗﻄﻌﺎ ﻋﺸﻖ ﻳﮏ وﺟﻮد ﻧﺎﻣﻴﺮاﺳﺖ!
ﻛﻪ زﻧﺪه ﻧﻴﺴﺖ در اﻳﻦ ﺳﺮای ﭘﻮﺷﺎﻟﻰ…
وﮔﺮﻧﻪ ﻣﻦ ﻛﻪ ﺧﻨﺪه دار ﻣﻴﻤﻴﺮم…
ﺳﻘﻮط ﺳﺨﺖ از درﺧﺖ ﻧﺎرﻧﮕﻰ
و ﻳﺎ ﻳﻪ آﺑﻨﺒﺎت ﮔﻴﺮ ﻛﻨﻪ ﺗﻮ ﮔﻠﻮم!
ﻣﻮﻗع ﭼﺮت و ﭘﺮت ﮔﻔﺘﻦ و رﻧﺪی…
و ﺗﻮ ﻧﺸﺴﺘﻪ ای ﺑﻪ ﻛﺎﻓﻪ ای ﻏﻤﮕﻴﻦ..

Shervin - man fekr konam jahan digari ham hast (Laleh Ra Didan )

Heydoo Hedayati-Vahshi.mp3

Kettle hiss, bare quiet on the block,
Mug rings ghost halos on the old worktop.
You go, “Listen, hear that? House heart, not shock.”
Tick… tocc… tick… tocc.

Warm tile, cold rain, socks half off feet,
Your hoodie on me, dragging round like a sheet.
Onions crying on the board, knife resting mid-chop,
You bump my hip, say, “Babe, you’re moving bare slow, stop.”
We laugh like we’re rich in a room that’s all steam,
Condensation spell-writing on the glass in between.
Your breath draws circles on the window’s dull skin,
Mine writes question marks that never quite begin.

Hood light flickers like it’s rating our chat,
You’re like, “This lamp’s on vibes, it’s not built for all that.”
We’re sixteen going on jaded, going on sage,
Double-spacing trauma in the margins of the page.
Cheap Tesco herbs in jars with no labels,
You swear thyme’s lucky and salt’s for angels.
You stir anti-clockwise, say it bends bad days,
I tap the wooden spoon in little offbeat ways.

No plot to this moment, just you leaning close,
Catching my rant then sprinkling jokes.
You call me “extra” when I overthink stock,
But you stack my worries like plates in a block.
Bare little rituals: two spoons, one pan,
You taste, pull a face, go, “Needs spice, fam.”
And under all the banter, under all that talk,
Something quiet says: stay,
While the minutes walk.

Tick, tocc goes the clock by the fridge,
Hands going round like we’re stuck on a bridge.
But in here, time slips, soft off the rock,
Every stir, every sip resets the whole block.
Tick, tocc, babe, but we don’t shock
We just run our mouths ‘til the worries unlock.
If the world wants rush, let the world mock,
We’ve got stew on the fire and a beat in the crock.

You say, “Love’s just chores dressed peng for the ‘gram,”
Folding clothes, rinsing pain from a pan.
I’m like, “Nah, love’s when you clock I’m too quiet,
And you flip the playlist, switch up the riot.”
Central heating hums like a distant train,
Radiator ticking out old-lady complaints.
You lean on the counter, scrolling half-dead feed,
Talking ‘bout the way your mum taught you to bleed.

You say, “She holds grudges like tupperware lids,
But man, she held it down when I was just kids.”
I nod, stirring slow, tasting that ache,
Thinking of my own lot, all the give and the take.
We trade tiny theories like salt and black pepper,
Why buses move mad and why good things sever.
You rinse the rice clean like you’re rinsing a past,
Say, “Look, no starch, see? That’s how you outlast.”

Bare little sermons in pyjama shorts,
Spills on the floor, unpaid reports.
You talk reincarnation as you wipe the hob,
Say, “If there’s next life, I’m ducking this job.”
I’m like, “In next life, hope we still share plates,”
You smirk, “Same estate? That’s peak, but fate.”
We giggle too loud and the ceiling dust drops,
Upstairs neighbour stomps, but the feeling never stops.

We’re not a storyline, we’re a late-night shop,
Always half-open, always about to flop
But somehow stocked with kindness and knock-off grace,
Price tags peeling, but it’s still our place.

Tick, tocc goes the clock on the wall,
Little metal heartbeat rating it all.
Every second’s like, move, every minute’s like, fall,
But your side-eyes catch me, and I don’t hear the call.
Tick, tocc, your laugh throws it off,
Leaves time wheezing in a second-hand cough.
If growing up’s a cliff, if healing’s a drop,
We’re stood in this kitchen just chatting non-stop.

Your mum in the doorway, arms folded, half-smile,
Eyes saying, “I birthed you,” voice saying, “You’re wild.”
She mutters ‘bout bills, ‘bout lights left on,
“You two think vibes can pay leccy when it’s gone?”
You roll your eyes, “Mum, allow it, I’ve got this.”
She fires back, “You ‘got this’ but not the dish.”
I stand in the middle with the tea and the spoon,
Stirring tension round the room like a monsoon.

Nashavad fashe kasi

KAHOO