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Poetry

The great concession


November 4, 2004
iranian.com

His noble boots
Like those of Hitler, Stalin, and Changiz Khan
Well-polished as a black mirror trying to imitate the sun,
Though dead hollow
And terribly cold.
His noble boots
Do reign the rivers, forests, birds, and every fairy tale you have ever read,
His noble boots do reign every land like a caged breath in the morning's lung
Oh, yes!
His noble boots
Will not be marching alone in our emptied streets after the third tragedy,
With gray melancholies like thin threads of spider webs
That's what I fear
Four more wars!
With troops of adrenalin soldiers
Wound-up to kill who?
Your enemy or his?

I've even heard God talk to his noble boots
Commanding them to crush the earth
Like a simple bag of brittle bones
As I hold this naive world
Like a dying child
In my sad arms.

* *

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