Sprint Long Distance

Iranian women

email us

Sprint Long Distance



US Transcom
US Transcom

Iranian books

Sehaty Foreign Exchange

Flower delivery in Iran

Advertise with The Iranian


 Write for The Iranian

30 Khordad

By Niloofar Kalaam
June 19, 2000
The Iranian

Thanks to The Iranian Times I realized it is the 19th anniversary of the 30th of Khordad massacre (June 19, 1981). Has it really been 19 years? The realization made me look up a poem I wrote several years ago.

So your boat is built

you've taken to sea.

I cannot blame you-

though I'm left alone-

on this fog-ridden island

where I grope my way-


The signs are many

Yesterday I found a walking stick:

a fallen branch with blistered bark.

Stripped, I found a tendril

coiled around its base.


Each night I dig the earth

for bulbs.

The smell of decay freshens the air.

Death comes close fear

lurks in the shadows behind trees.

I weigh the bulbs in my palms

and choose a sharp one.

Its bite sears through

to the sting of fabric fused into skin

with blood.


When I light a fire

the belly of Time swells

with the smell of burning flesh.

I see the arc of your charred toes-

Contractions seem near.


These are not much, I know.

But I have too the memory of the sparkle your eyes once held

When rain drummed the beat of our collective pulse

and We

were happy.


I see you

rowing your boat

I feel the rush in your veins

the struggle of muscle with memory-


Remember the night we parted paths?

From the footsteps of rain rose-what?


We unwrapped our longings

Like old women once abandoned at the altar

their wedding gowns.


The air was thick and the moon's profile

vague in its smile.

Our spirits rose and stretched

like late afternoon shadows

across forbidden zones.


The road to the outhouse beckoned-

we stared.


Metal door pockmarked with rust

Conspicuous lock

the latch amateurishly welded

Marks as gross as knife wounds healed

without stitches.


"Let us fetch our metal clogs

and walking sticks

and inspect this festering dump

that hides beneath our skin."


But you had carried your busyness

far too long-

aerosol deodorant

held close against your skin.


"The more we stir our shit

the greater the stink

I'm afraid the stench can drive us off-

even a Golden Bridge."


So your boat is built

you're rowing hard.

I cannot blame you-

though I'm left alone-

on this fog-ridden island

where I grope my way home.


For old times' sake

leave me the cable tracks etched upon your back.

That record you cradle within your flesh

is the brail

that leads my way


For I promise you

Upon the sparkle your eyes once held

Upon the unified flow of abandoned longings

And the secret smile of a crescent moon

I will piece my map together

from scraps of memory

and footprints of Rain

I will find my way

to that nest of terror

where our humanity lies



But tell me, Dearest

when you stop to clear your brow

between the rise and fall of your oar

does decay not flower in your throat

does your Golden Bridge not beckon you

to dive?

--December 1996

Comment for The Iranian letters section
Comment to the writer Niloofar Kalaam

 Sprint Long Distance

Copyright © Abadan Publishing Co. All Rights Reserved. May not be duplicated or distributed in any form

 MIS Internet Services

Web Site Design by
Multimedia Internet Services, Inc

 GPG Internet server

Internet server by
Global Publishing Group.