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Poetry

(no title)

December 7, 2005
iranian.com

Pride,
I took you for a sin,
but you are a song
of what we are,
for that is the question
at the tip of our tongue.

And you let us down.
We thought we were
the best that was
Our home, our land

our father's fathers
upon our shoulders
they had not fallen
so we could fall

Pride,
I was wrong.

You're an engine,
morphine to pack lies
into the nothing
that waits for all.

Just don't forget
that nothing can be
as pretty as you want.

 

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Stories From Iran
A Chicago Anthology 1921-1991
edited by Heshmat Moayyad

 

 

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