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Poetry

I stand where the windows are empty

By Sheema Kalbasi & Roger Humes
December 11, 2003
The Iranian

I stand where the windows are empty
from my reflex and in the growing
twilight of the evening I stare
into the happy alley
and listen to the hush
where no bird's song breaks
the gloom of the moment
but mine

and I think of you
- connected to me
womb to womb -
and I await your arrival
with a lamp that now
grows oh so dim.

For I know for the truth
in this sacred moment,
when we shall talk once more,
face to face,
that the door to the cage
is at last open
and together we shall watch
the final gathering of the birds
when they take flight
at the end of our days.

Yes, my cut heart shall sing
but it will be the bitter tears
where one realizes the true
meaning of exile is to be
left all alone.

For I know for the truth
in this sacred moment
what the poet truly meant
when her sad voice sang
this bird is mortal...

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