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By Mersedeh Khozin
January 22, 2002
The Iranian


Tell me of a mother in Ghome,

who hanged herself in her room

with a blanket,

was she punch drunk?


Tell me of a student in Tehran,

who flung himself to death

from the tenth floor of a building,,

did his grip fumble with the loneliness up there?


Tell me of a hooded man in Mashad's streets

who picked out others of his own blood on a parade,

was his skin beginning

to turn with soltitude?


Tell me of a girl who wore red lipstick,

and returned home pregnant

from a prison cell,

has she been charged under the Immortality Act?


Tell me of a journalist,

who hanged himself in jail

with a piece of his torn pair of jeans.

was he hiding a pair of scissors in the cell?


Tell me my native land,

has the gruesome sight

of a mangled corpse

not begun to sit on your conscience?

Comment for The Iranian letters section
Comment for the poet Mersedeh Khozin

Fly to Iran

By Mersedeh Khozin

Should have done laundry
But started scribbling in my notebook

This is the stone


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