Poetry * FAQ * Write for The Iranian
* Editorial policy


By Hamed Vahidi
October 10, 2001
The Iranian


Come see the grave where the rest of me is confined,

She was the spool on which the threads of my heart would wind


The dimple of her cheek was the chalice for lovers of wine,

Now it's the place where loathsome creatures dine


The sight of her face awakened my desire,

Now it's a reminder of everything sad and dire


The pupil of her eye was the dark road I took with no fear,

Dare to enter now, it is the eternal house of pain and tear


Gaze upon this damned place where humans flock like crows,

See how they mistake the sigh of the wind for the voice of their fellows


See how every man squats near a grave growing old beyond his years,

See how every woman enriches the soil with the liquid of her tears


Beware of the day when memories float away on the sea of time,

No one has the strength to resist a force so sublime


So let me lie in the grave and hold her hands forever,

The time will pass and our bodies will fade together.


* This poem is dedicated to the oppressed people of Iran, especially to those who have lost their loved ones.

Comment for The Iranian letters section
Comment for the writer Hamed Vahidi

By Hamed Vahidi

Somewhere inbetween
Ancient and modern man

Last refuge
A discourse on humanism


Features archive

* Recent

* Cover stories

* Feature writers

* Arts & literature

* All sections

Flower delivery in Iran
Copyright © Iranian.com All Rights Reserved. Legal Terms for more information contact: times@iranian.com
Web design by BTC Consultants
Internet server Global Publishing Group