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On the last Wednesday of the year Hafiz jumped over the fire

March 19, 2002
The Iranian

There was blood on the stones. Hafiz was alone in starless Shiraz drinking wine. His passion gone all too soon on NoRuz touching the sun on Takhte-Jamshid protected by the Goddess Venus cast in glass. Shattered by Alexander in a white toga on the Achaemenid terrace viewing the burnt garden of Eros at dusk.

Wandering graves, restless sleep Darius 111, a raven on his shoulder, hidden in his heart nets of gold, standing apart as Takhte-Jamshid burned. The kingdom fell to Macedonian gladiators with silent bloody feet. Hafiz saw Venus with a white veil coming down the silver stair, a rain of stars on air.

The orange trees were on fire as the carnage red as the rose is red fell on the throne. The flames burned the mirror at 10.46.20 p.m. on the sundial. The gold fish bowl burst and the Persian cat swallowed the fish on Wednesday, March 20, 2002. Ahuramazda left behind old gold colored eggs on china streaked with sapphire and vanished in the mist.

Dead crownless Darius moaned in the grave full of sabzi where the last scion of the brood of kings stood. Cut down by the gnarled oak under the pommegranate tree. A silver sword in his heart without a shield.

Hafiz with the rose smiled covered with stars in Shiraz under the crescent moon. The jeweled crown of the Shah above the entrance of the Qoran Gate still on the Eastern hill at noon.

The lion leaped on the table beginning the celebration of the first day of Spring. Blood entered the portico of Evil dashing the wings of Good. A fantasy by the grave of Hafiz. Ashes of a wild white lily by the sunflower turning to meet t6he sun on the road.

Haji Firuz turned black beating his kettle drum with a breaking heart, He passed away the time from afar with dreams of Kandahar.

Rage, rage a dirge of divine dreams, tales that visions weave. Jamshid a melody of mirrors, jewels and swords killing the demons, passing to the mountain top of the orange pavilion hung in the burning East scented with roses. Sitting in the garden with Apollo shooting a golden bow.

On the last Wednesday of the year Hafiz jumped over the fire and said give me your beautiful red color and take back my sickly pallor. Scattered by the wind his poetry on pieces of paper in the orchard of pink plum blossoms. A breeze by gold trees perfumed the rising star.

The thrush frightened from the woods sat on a pale NoRuz narcissus. Picked on seven dried nuts and fruits, pistachios, kisses not her own, figs from Khuzistan before her love sent her apricots wrapped with raisens rolled in hazelnuts. Alexander's shadow banged on pots and pans.

Behind the palace wall clinging white Japanese wisteria. Cyrus hears his Fal-Gush whispering in Persian flooding Takhte-Jamshid with song in the audience hall. Hyacinths fell on his blue feet. The hall was filled with sacred candles on the marble walls. Sleeping tigers on the Persian rugs. The memory of ripe vineyards and splended tables surrounded by the Sacred Seven in 1380. Seven half so sweet - Haft - Sin a dish of SABZEH green lentils with a crimson bow bringing rebirth to the wedding palace in Spring. Hafiz soaks in the sacred creamy SAMANU powdered with SEEB blossoms by the lotus tree. The fruit SENJED sweet on his tongue. SEER holds its white head high with purple flowers curing the kings mortal organs. Silver poetry of the nightingale with SOMAQ weeps at the yellow sunrise bringing the SUN GOD inside beneath the veil of Khayaams bread and wine. SERKEH patiently waits to turn to SAFFRON dust with Hafiz in Shiraz. SAD SAAL BE IN SAAL - HA

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