Xahir is what you see.
Xahir is a mountain,
and a fan of feathers.
Xahir is like a dagger
At whose hilt a flower sprouts.
Xahir is a fountain
that springs a coral water.
Xahir is a green field
And an ignited crimson
Xahir is a wounded fawn
that seeks refuge in the forest.
Xahir appeases the valiant.
Xahir, brief and sincere,
is the vigor of steel
from which the sword is forged.
