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Poetry

An exercise in truth by consensus


Anonymous
August 29, 2005
iranian.com

Please tap your chest with your left hand and rub your head with your right if you like the left side better, or vice versa.
I'll make a boat/i shall build a boat

BY: Sohrab Sepehri, Saturday morning intermediate class/BY: Fatemeh Zahra neo-post-uber evin

I'll make a boat/i shall build a boat
I'll flow it on the water/i shall cast it onto the waters
I'll go away from this strange soil/i shall sail away from early retirement
On which/where no one awakens
No one wants to awake the heroes in love/the cyclops in the thicket of love
The boat must be free from fishing net/we're just holding hands ok
And the heart/and really
Will wish for no pearls/i am necessarily
I'll keep on boating/who i am
I'll not fall in love with blues/i may 'act' angry and bruised
Nor with the seas/or pungent
Nor even with the water fairies/and like you (know), should you prefer, I can wear a bow tie and go:
Who appear/god is on my side
On the way of fishermen/and so who won the game?
I'll keep on boating/my activism is how i party
I'll keep on singing:/halal is hell
I must go farther, farther/so party party
There is a city behind the seas/in the belly of the beast
Where the windows open to manifestation/where once snapped out of
Where roofs are for the doves/cubic nordic migratory alignment and your Scandinavian bureaucratic utopia
Who are watching/you feel the ph 2
The fountains of human wisdom/and the power
Where the hand of each child/of image on cereal box
Is a branch of recognition/please translate: your MAHKOUMIYAT has ended
The people in the city/emanci-mamanbozorgfuckin-pator-of-the-slaves doodled bondage
Look at walls
In the same way/these people are zombies
As they see/there is never an excuse for starving art (cognitive dissonance)
A flame/i am accented without the accent
As they feel a delicate dream/throw away the tin drum
The soil over there/and start making noise
Hears the melody of your feeling/fingertip gingertip snap
And the wind/baseeji bayad beraghseh
Is prevailed with sound of mythical flying birds/somebody threw the dice
There is a city behind the seas/and you got to build a fort
Wherein/after much deep thought
The extent of the sun/and the consideration of infinite alternatives
Is as big as/the stallion square-hopped an awkwardly ilL shape
The eyes of early risers/on your forehead
Poets are the heirs to/please do not associate me with Persian Delight
Water, wisdom, and brightness/my self-exclusion from your perpetuation of your system
There is a city behind the seas/is destabilising
A boat must be made/moustache may now take home the powerpoint

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