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Melting icicle

By Abol Danesh
July 2, 2002
The Iranian

Time oozing out ever slower until it comes to a stop
And then turns into an icicle
Hanging off my soul's roof
In comparison a cabin fever
Is just a wild mardi party that has gone out of loop
If you can hang on to this frozen time
Then you see a gate way opens up
Now you are the only passenger in a bullet terrain
Where outside visitors, building, trees
Mesh into a blurred combination of indeterminancy
Where they are unable to decipher or hear a word
That you utter inside this bullet terrain
Barbarism and civilization
One slow, the other fast
But both can share the same destiny of mutual extinction.

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