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Poetry

The four quarters of the old city

 

Augsut 13, 2006
iranian.com

the desertification of our planet approaches
slowly
but like our own death
it comes steadily and with promise

yet wise men and women
holy souls who all cry faith
hang on to their corners
at opposite ends of the old city
living together but in hatred
preaching the word of god
praying at a wall behind which
he supposedly sits

all carrying their different symbols
like soccer fans running through city streets
shouting which house of god they belong to

who is this god you speak of
who can be contained in a place
sitting on a throne
watching misery and pain from a distance
viewing your bloodshed as a sign of your devotion

your egos are riding humanity bareback
yet you ask for faith
that does not question your integrity
or the meaning of your words

who is this god so empty
whose compassion can be kept
among layers of bricks
displeased with anything but blind certitude

i denounce this god you've all created
i denounce this god you've all created

i go to the sea for my pilgrimage
kneeling at a volcano's peek
to whisper words that may trickle down to the core

the stars at night hum
that none can truly own this land

so i leave this journey in the hands of a god
whose glimpse containes four billion years of your history
and who is only saddened and disappointed
by your man-made religions

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Stories From Iran
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