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 Write for The Iranian

Recollecting a dream

December 1, 2000
The Iranian


I had a dream

When the Halloween was splashed out

Over the colony of my quicksilver agonies.


I found myself turning into a children's song -

Repetitious but always new

Mundane but forever etched

Into a forgetful glorious memory.


And it was there and then

When my heart asked: "Why

Is our time so cold and the weather short?

Why do dreams happen in the streets

While reality dwells

Only in our convoluted mind?

Does this mean that I could be you

If you could only be me?"


I had no answer but knew

That if one immersed in such liquid thoughts

One could surely end up

Jumping over the moon

Only to fall

Into the brute arms

Of secluded mares.


And then, right then

(Seeing love

Creeping out of a mass of suffocating chests

Oozing into the ugly deathtraps

Of human follies)

My philosopher/politician self began to ponder:

"Tell me frankly what is wrong

With our understanding of Time

And the primordial essence of Life?"


But it was then, exactly then,

When I saw an illuminated messenger of despair

Lurking over my books

Whirling in the void of their words

and covering her face

With a veil of insanity.




O, you!

The invisibility of a dream!

The hidden voice of a fading life!

The murmuring songs of a murdered Solomon!


Within a blink

I was found and lost

Surrendered to the lectures of stoned philosophers

And mutterings of capsized politicians.


And, look! look!, look!

The inevitable mourning

Is on again

With its chaotic symphony

Of our daily chorus.


Dreams are, once again,

Prisoners of unconscious,

And a wild unknown saffron breeze

Is descending onto the ecstasy

Of a numbed chest

Filled with the treasures

Of a truthful moment.



It's time

To flash back

Into the


Of this




-- Denver, November 17, 2000

Comment for The Iranian letters section
Comment to the writer Esmail Nooriala

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