The rug
and the fog and the milk and the wind and the troll
I still remember all
Woven from beginning of history
Stretched up until our old “Naharkhori”
The pattern of that old Turkmen rug
and the crawl of early morning fog
amidst Ramsar’s forests
and the vagrant Shahsavaar cows
with milk-loaded breasts
Tell me, what fills the void of this life best?
I still remember
The wild whirlwinds running in vain
between the road of Kashan – Naein
originating from
40 dried “ghanaat” and “kariz”
…or who knows perhaps
from blossoms of Shomal narenj trees;
or the nest of wild bees
I still remember
bloomy scent of spring, but
gloomy tone of bullying in falls
stay away from school trolls
stick to the Shirkakao only 8 rials
…..
Now, I open up to change everyday
and to my ethnic Alzheimer
From Atlantics to San
Francisco bay
Hey!
Dishab