Saturday, May 16, 2015


 “The crow that flew over us … will tell about us in the town.”  (Forough Farrokhzad, ‘Conquest of the Garden’)

Certain music drives me back
All the way
To the wanderer
That I was
Before money bid me
Dance to its beat and sway
And the wealthy
Condemned me to be poor.

I remember
When our hearts were touched
With fire from flames eternal
(That later turned infernal).
Lighting up the night
We blazed like burning stars
In the black crows’ sky above,
White-hot in the zeal
Of our requited love.

I remember all this,
And more than this,
I remember you,
That last time that we kissed,
Your final phone call,
And your face
Across the street
In the traffic crawl
Of an orange taxi fleet.
How I wish
I had leaped
To my feet
And run
To rescue you
From what was to come.

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