POETRY

Dressed in the misery of exile

In this unforeseen frosty winter

I witness how my sighs slumber

Freezing into spotless snowflakes.

As I walk on a snowy roadside,

Liberty-crowned, in wreaths of longing,

Nostalgia wreaking havoc in me

A razor emerges in my heart.

I become a frail flower of ice

Blown by Goddess’ balmy breath,

Shattering into pieces and back.

For, I have a razor in my heart.

Longing for Mother Iran’s bosom,

Mum of Homeland burns with blaze of wrath

Graves grip pictures of the fallen,

Souls of the dead cart thought of justice

To the mouth of children as core food

I soak my dream-scorched brain with tears

For, I have a razor in my heart.

I measure not the weight of sorrow

Against the weight of never knowing

I let the existential questions

Rise and fall away like a wild wind

Outside of the steel cycle of time

A blood-spattered white rose blooms

In eternity's infinite palm,

For, I have a razor in my heart.

The sea of unknowing laps against

The wall of small pleasures that holds

The Sirens’ lure of suicide back, though

I do have a razor in my heart!