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Poetry

Prisoner of conscience

March 6, 2005
iranian.com

Where is the moon?
Where is the moon?
The voice breaks
in the tightened throat of a shadow
moving against the wall
in the rapid and feverish beatings of the night
Bent by the darkness
with no cracks of light in sight
The sky guffaws:
"lost, never to be found
Never to be found"

The missing fingers of his tomorrow
stand to dance in magical rhythms of forgetness
to count the days gone by
The silence in his head ruptures:
"the calendar is dead"
Where is everyone?
Where is everyone?
The shadow screams.
No one retorts:
"Making the best of this darkness
Where the sky shines brightest
In the reflection of synthetic moon"

The shadow listens to
the mouse chewing away
the faces of innocence
fallen sleep
and swallows the bitter answer
watching the walls grow tall
in a callous scoff
and the two wells of his eyes
grow deeper in angst, in cry
his ten furrows of hope
deepened on the wall
overflow with fresh blood
and in the deepness of darkness
the gallows tree calls:
"Time to depart"
and beneath the land of forgetness
a life fades away in the misty night...

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