Night in her forest
For Antje

April 19, 2005
iranian.com

As night comes
the sweet spring night torments my loneliness.
I wait among her countless forest reeds
listening to the spirits admonishing me,
say, friend, if all is well still with love?

Whom can I seek for refuge there?
They laugh bashfully when I peek at her window,
the taste of passion echoes from their murmuring.
Why do I blankly endure love's desolating fire?

Tangles of yellow flowes lie wilted below her window's hair.
Downcast and tongue-tied, an owl's suspicions raise a vision: He
cannot belong to this thicket of faces.
The owl's advice decieves me, life is better
in this barren habitat.

Oh, to spread the bliss of love,
Sooth me! End the paradox!

Trees with night-lily eyes feel me,
I am forced to stare back.
curling, sandal forest winds,
cool winds like fire, a paradox of
passion-bound infinity, command
my torment, lifting my lifebreath
with arrows, Love!

Gracious love, tears fall even as I wipe them
away, with the leaves that cover some tree's loins.
"Leave us alone," I utter in a
faltering voice chocked by tears
like a humming bird wailing relentlessly.

Fragrant breath of wind shakes the demon away,
and my fear of darkness fades
my soul prospering from their
calm, seasoned looks,
rich with mood, under moon's
touching footprints, their
proud chest bristling
like cloud-forms thickening the sky, examining
every fiber of my soul.

Joyful of their clan, I only lament
her absence of presence, not witnessing
this symphony of sounds reverberating through the forest,
divine subtle flowing sounds
like poems of erotic of mood.

If loneliness enriches my heart
the forest's seduction arouses me into
the sweet pool of remembrance,
in her thin incarnate form,
soft belly, tender kisses, and
charming smiles.

Triumph! I am now drunk from dancing
in the rite of love, in the hot bellies of trees
circling wildly, reveling in the festival of love.

After weeks of waiting, frozen in time, triumph, on
tips of smooth oak branches,
melodicious voice of cukoos, raising
their joyful sound, mimicing willful girls,
delighting in their seductive game.
Are they mocking me?
What can I do, except stare
at her cat's vacant stare out the window,
basking in morning's glow, curiously
at a crowd of roving bumblebees.
"Comfort in love now, friend."

Our stare click for a moment,
vaporized jealousy, entangled with mutual sympathy,
co-miserating her absence of presence.
Are we not allowed a moment's peaceful coexistence?!

With Sun's rays in her eyes, she wears
a garment of different colors.

Beneath their shady roofs, I stand, laden with memory,
tuned into their fresh pipe, their bright pavillion, issuing forth
a sporty climate. The oaks had slept, while
I beheld their maiden fairer in the sprightly dance,
dancing my solitude away, in the company of their
magnanimous mansion, bereft of hatred, revenge, cruelty,
terror, and exploitation, only
law of nature, peace, love, and unity,
complete as a human illusion. 

Author
Kaveh Afrasiabi has a Ph.D. in political science. He has authored a number of books, fiction and non-fiction, and numerous articles -- including the Harvard Theological Review, Middle East Journal, UN Chronicle, and The New York Times. He is the author of: After Khomeini: New Directions in Iran's Foreign Policy (Westview Press, 1994).