Friday, August 28, 2015


There was a realm
Of gold and bright turquoise
That flamed like fire,
Burning, but not burning
Where we once played
Like children with new toys.
We saw it fade,
Yearning and still yearning.

There was a time
Our wishes were granted.
We spent our days
Dreaming, but not dreaming
Of the harvest
From the seeds we planted,
Or its meaning,
Though it had no meaning.

No more sweet times,
No grand places remain.
We've ended up
Ageing, but not ageing
One of us in ruin,
The other in shame,
Both beyond raging,
And yet still raging.

Note: the picture is a section of a Persian miniature by Vahid Rahmanian.

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