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(for Maya and Mother)


January 16, 2006

Born on the dry insolence of sunlight and the oftenness of footsteps

Mistakes resume the echo of pain crunching under souls like feet

And our eyes heavy with the dew of morning faith

Salute love like death in poetry.

These countless links between us bare the cruelty of being

And hinge on the cold winds brushing over our ears with the breath of dusk and the

Words that unite us under the clouds waiting to be plucked like pearls from the sky.

There are growing noises from afar

Streams of words better left unsaid

Men melt their shame with crackling grins

And women nail the treachery of their own flesh like an opaque riddle.

The hearts between us stir us like noise

And the glimmers between us light the arches

Guiding us through days trembling with fear, with loneliness and scorched souls

Through the darkness of night.

Yet, tonight, our lips are sealed, like wounded fish,

We only tremble at the pitfalls of unity all around us.

And forget the human aspect of falling.

For letters section
To Arash Daneshzadeh

Arash Daneshzadeh


Book of the day

Three volume box set of the Persian Book of Kings
Translated by Dick Davis

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