Aphyllous

Why is her smile

An aphyllous tree,

A girl who pulls up

The sides of her dress?

I can't paint her love

On her rough surface,

With the corners of her lips

Held up with needles

Why are her eyes

Pools of emptiness,

A nameless river

Drown in a youthful body?

Why is her sun

Hiding behind the moon

Silent of stolen stars

In her heliocentric dream?

I can't hold her hands

When she turns into smoke

And circles in thin air

A ghost who dances alone

Why does her gaze

Linger on along the stumps

Of chopped off willows

On the promenade of life?

I water her aphyllous tree

And wait for blossoms

To grow and give birth

To all fish in empty pools

I pray for her sun to shine

Upon her hands and eyes

At a soirée dansante of willows

Kissed by the soft breeze of love

From “Persian Pomegranates- A Young Poet's Soliloquy”