Farah Afshari

They burnt the morning

on the pale green of wasted memories

with the fire of Creed

as God, the kind God

with the dry dance of his fingers

played peaceful melodies

and the skeletons of the green mind

raised hands in pray for the rain

and no one knew

that the wells of home-grown diseases

have swallowed the land dry

with their thirsty mind of dark days past and tomorrow


They burnt the morning

with the deep passage of red river

flowing from dark holes

to the hills of wonder

as God, the witness God shed tears in silence

helpless,

and wind brought the yellow dust of all days lost


The kind ghosts

over the gray remains of the unborn morning

in a desperate cry

waited and wondered for the rain

the forever rain to raise waves of storms

as ashes spread wide with the wind

at the faces of those

who burnt the ashes

in dark, dark, holes of today and tomorrow


They burnt the morning

when birds had fallen asleep

in the pure clouds

on the green mountain

as love, that thirsty creature of the human

dying helpless on our frozen hands

and God the merciful God

walked away in wonder

and shame rained from four corners of earth

on thirsty lands of dreams we held


As the morning fell sleep in vain

the silent voices cried in pain

to the deaf ears

where is God? children asked

where is God? fathers cried

where is God? mothers sang

waving their black bodies

in the dry air of green mountain

the rainless God raised to forget

as forgetting became the miracle of

all days the human lived

and pain turned old and gray

as the human's repeated glances in the mirror of life

the skeletons of days we lived...