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Poetry

My war

 

 

May 24, 2007
iranian.com

Still the silent midst of cold

Calming cowering emptied into solitude

Bunkers around another bitter night

Guided by the lost ones led by bodies and cloaks, always the cloaks, passing by the suffering
With daggered eyes, with naked remorse, while starless heritage and fake fireflies whirl about their sky

And hands graveled by candle butts scarring the evening with disgust

Guide those who still carry the selfless memory of sons and husbands
In a lazy despair lasting the length of other memories

Underneath this anticipation is submission to deserted homes and proud lives

Where onslaughts of youth can be thought of as unburied embraces
When mothers can veil their son’s tears in their dusty pockets

Still the silent midst of cold

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