Majnoon has no pride
By Zara Houshmand
August 16, 2000
The Iranian
Majnoon has no pride;
me, I have no place to hide.
Fingertips on keys
punch holes in boundaries
between two worlds
and the wind whistles through shamelessly,
shamelessly.
Kittens come to me, submit, and beg for love;
it's only time
before the lions come, the tanks stop in their tracks,
the homeless sleep in peace in my abandoned bed.
It's only endless, endless time,
and my fingers on the keys aren't hard or fast enough.
I raise the hammer, muscles pull, swing free and hard.
A thud, a shock, a tiny chip. Again,
again, again, again, again
till dust flies and brick falls from gaping walls.
Beyond the pain, the idiot smile.
In defeat, I lay my head upon your thigh.
'No, aziz, not there.' Anywhere but there:
cold tile, wet sheets, thin air.
Majnoon has no place to hide,
and me, no pride.
