DAMAVAND

Massive mountains tower

Over dusty Tehran,

But they cast no shadows –

Such is the deft movement

Of the parching hot sun

Making its daily run.

Most of the smog smeared year

The high mountains merge with

The haze that masks their peaks

And their vastness recedes

Until the breeze blows clear

And peaks and crags seem near.

When dirty air withdraws

A glance detects one more

Distinct summit of size

That dwarfs its neighbors’ heights,

Volcanic in its shape -

Serene in its white cape.

The cone of Damavand

Rises and makes it known

That even stone has grace,

Presence, and stands supreme –

Set stark against blue sky.

Steep slopes delight the eye.

Jaded tourists look up.

Nonchalant Tehranis

Turn knowing heads to see

The sight that stays the same -

Perfect never changes

Above charcoal ranges.