poetryrepairs 16,05059

FERESHTEH SHOLEVAR : A Post Card From A War Zone
FERESHTEH SHOLEVAR : The Eagle

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FERESHTEH SHOLEVAR
A Post Card From A War Zone

Thereís no sky, only moon and stars, nights are not silent, and love is a short voyage between strangers. Waters are turquoise-blue, scenery is dream-like, the sunlight roams in our hair, and the mystic moon awakens our sleepy passions. Food is exotic; fried eggplants spiced with mint, basil, tomatoes and saffron with rice, and water melon juice, and fig pies. The aroma is heavenly and prices are reasonable. Except for the roads: corpses block our way and their stench stays with us. I canít forget the child trying to wake her dead mother with a crumbled bouquet of red flowers. Searching eyes, the moaning voices, the unfinished smile of an orphan child, and scattered body parts in the yellow meadows travel with me where ever I go.

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FERESHTEH SHOLEVAR
The Eagle

red rotating eyes white patch on his head blue sky glider wind-dweller free! His strong wings hold all the flights of the world he captures you, crushes you and thus teaches you how to free yourself from his claws. The eagle has not learned kindness and envies the innocent swan gliding on calm waters. He has flown over mountains and seas forests and deep valleys. The immensity of his flights has fatigued him and solitude in heights has deprived him of empathy. Upon his last descent he fell into a deep abyss of sands and lost the memory of his flight. Now the eagle with closed wings is dreaming about the blue sky under a leafless tree.

poetryrepairs #224 15,05059






   




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FERESHTEH SHOLEVAR

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