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 Melting icicleBy Abol Danesh July 2, 2002 The Iranian Time oozing out ever slower until it comes to a stop And then turns into an icicle Hanging off my soul's roof In comparison a cabin fever Is just a wild mardi party that has gone out of loop If you can hang on to this frozen time Then you see a gate way opens up Now you are the only passenger in a bullet terrain Where outside visitors, building, trees Mesh into a blurred combination of indeterminancy Where they are unable to decipher or hear a word That you utter inside this bullet terrain Barbarism and civilization One slow, the other fast But both can share the same destiny of mutual extinction.
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