I miss

There is a fire inside

somewhere along these

burning

Lines I lose parts of

myself crossing oceans

Not knowing I recall

water from fire

in air

particles of me flying

Looking at me

Dropping ropes

Asking me

reasons why I leave

something

everywhere

I fly.

 

 

These poem are an attempt to get back what is lost in between/ my days squeezed in schedules/ sandwiched inability of seeing beyond lives I leave behind/ they are, shattered mirrors/ Looking at myself, at my friends, I see/ Present fragments / connecting undone, of fire inside, are colored with my judgments, my version of stories/ How I wake up, to tell you, how I still look/ without all these gone/ at myself/ in these pieces of these/ broken parts broken mirrors/ of hearts of parts of mine.

Mom says, you leave something everywhere you go/ she adds, someone is you/ walking just now with things/ you lost. So many of me, exists in between these lines. I missed. I miss. Looking at.

Everything colored with “I” screams many times impertinent to reality. See my grains of salt and if you wish, don’t see them because, these poems are the names.

I miss.

 

 

 

 

 

Saeed - Blood

Hands are veins I see/ Slender and strong/ Grooming leaves or cooking chicken/ petting snails and straws/ wetlands of Guilan/ under heater light/ Was the only arms I could sleep in/ like a baby/ I’m your mom/ Can I dance?/ and you watch me sometimes?/ when scared as you are/ becomes the scarf I knit, for you/ my love/ The rope/ you imagine/ Is how you see us/ That is when/ We’re done.

 

How come none of this be, according to your eyes?

You write.

I’ll watch.

For the nine years I spent

before you,

While you were not.

 

 

 

 

 

Amir - Air

Voice is rogue/ Muscles too/ From the south/ Ahwaz/ 1980 a gift/ born out of bombs/ Tall my old lover has forgot/ Necessarily/ Watching me kiss another man/ At the end of a dark street/ In Tehran/ You walked back/ 15 years ago/ when he cursed and he cursed/ and spat/ He was gone.

But stayed

My first lover sold his memory

to Heroin

while in rehab he’d done

so much he could get away

with none of us history girls

so he swallowed and swallowed

Until he became empty

 while he’s here

right in front of you.

But he’s not.

 

Jacob Riis was our host past summer

we made love in Atlantic

Looked at the sun

and touched

It was gone

An eclipse happened.

 

There is no more memory.

And you’re not.

Here.

Anymore.

 To my dear Saba: Honestly I wrote the first page of the book before that night, "the night that poured violets from the sky/ until a group pf poets arrived looking for passion flowers" and that is why I like it so much, because it belongs to a period of my life that I will never forget. So I will not say anything here either and let the poet talk: "I swear by the drop of water dripping from a hand, that I will not runaway from your wanting, you can write death on all my life schedules, I will live on." - Happy Birthday - June 2001

To my dear Saba: Honestly I wrote the first page of the book before that night, "the night that poured violets from the sky/ until a group pf poets arrived looking for passion flowers" and that is why I like it so much, because it belongs to a period of my life that I will never forget. So I will not say anything here either and let the poet talk: "I swear by the drop of water dripping from a hand, that I will not runaway from your wanting, you can write death on all my life schedules, I will live on." - Happy Birthday - June 2001

 

 

 

 

 

Jef - Mind

I am scared for you /Since/ My love for you is like a pipe/ third king/ whose presence has also wiped out/ our days of my friends/ We hide/ in a baby’s skin/ for hours/ without a word/ and drive. But then you stopped/ “looking at the sole of your shoes”/ Dean and I, in cemetery, thought of you and hoped/ You are alive.

 

Where did I lose you Jef?

Was it because you never tilt your head up

from your salad

counting favors

when I enter your life by times?

Was it because you did not belong

Between my thighs

At the time?

on that bus in Park city towards

the destination

of some strange mansion

that I laughed and laughed and laughed

and you became a friend

Unable to kiss

With warmth.

 

How are you doing these days my friend?

Do you visit

Greenwood cemetery

sometimes?

it’s nearby

we’re 20 blocks away 

by time

Counting fingers

I planned that for us

So that maybe

birds chirp again

Inside my thighs.

 

We need that many years

that many years

to follow

the guide of love

So that you are

my king

and I am yours.

Sometimes.

 

 

 

 

 

Yassmineh - Fire

A night in Montreal

Is what we’re speaking of

and your screams and your yells

spiraling over my head in spaceships flying around

Inside the tin box of a childhood

adorned with bombs

and emotional to gut parents

sans awareness

In the crowd of concertgoers

when summer has denied its fascination with love.

 

We kiss once and laugh

on the cheeks

This is too funny

It’s my own skin

I’m smelling

Why are we too funny?

Let’s just not try Anymore.

 

And that was how I gave up any sexual encounter with the creature that I am.

 

 

 

 

Rafed - Island

you are there

always

when everyone’s gone

watching me from afar

sending tears my way

of why

you know 

you're gone. 

I was not your choice

since

I made you think

so hard.

Sometimes I wonder if the mistakes are what we make them as they are or they’re just forkheads in out path, inevitable switches between left or right, what determines we’re headed while, we have no choice where this maze is headed, when frankly that’s all we’ve got. Not knowing so calling them mistakes or not, does not heal, at all. 

 

 Aran Island - 2004

Aran Island - 2004

 

There are things that will cry for us.

For the seeds we planted

and left to storms.

 

 

Vina - Witch

Friend, your blood is still within me

I was going through things

And you were scared of me

it was hard.

 

2014-10-09_1412831172.jpg

I am the rebellion

and the madhatter

woman

look me in the eyes

the witch that you are

Let’s talk.

Defeat me!

[Bangs on table]

wound is not fresh

We are the healers of

What we start.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Zari -  Child

Pain in your tooth/ Is not just the tooth/ It’s the world around/ Of a child left to her own devices/ Flaky and untrusting/ Howling a monster/ on my belly/ Nowshahr in winter/ by the way of a gutter/ We sit on a step/ And you cry on my belly/ You are my mom I’m losing sight right now/ To liver failure/ I can not put my heads/ On her belly/ Anymore. Multi-headed dragon, I’ll be another part time prostitte/ In city of gas/ With you/ Wherver you go/ Where are you?

  

Terrifies me this happy and asleep country

What if I wake up

And you’re gone

From my sight of the border?

You were the earth and the rain and the wheat,

What if I wake up

and you are

 not the farmer?

 

I am sacred of when you leave

 house falls on my head,

I’m trampled so I laugh

 at the architecture of ruins.

I become a deserter

my country is left in your palms

Sigh Sigh

 if you do not tame that army of your hair.

 

Mad will like it to see another mad

I’m scared of that moment when you are not mad anymore

I keep posting my dear life right at your door

Knocking on door when no one is in for a whole lifetime anymore.

You happened in my body like a crisis

I am scared

of the moment

 When I turn in to Farhad

Of this poem.

 

Leash of my madness is not in my own hands

There is Djin in between these lines

 in between these rhymes.

 

I am scared of this loss,

Of when you stop stitching

 your looks

 to mine.

 

 

 

 

 

Yasmin - Twin

In every cell/ there are a bunch of things/ like water and nutrition/ For future things/ we lived in that water together/ grew up/ apart/ Now in The Hague/ Are looking back at the memory/ Of someone/ uprooted/ Disappeared/ Displaced/ You kept saying your memory of me/ never returned to Tehran/ After my return of New York / You cried/ By the fire/ In Taaher Gourab/ Without tears/ Your way of doing things/ I miss your sharp eyes/ dance of fire in them/ You said you’re wounded/ What happened to you in that city/ Is that I lost my friend of ten years/ You’re dry/ You don’t smile/ Where is your fat? Your drunken laughter and your heart? You said.

 

DSC_0225.JPG

This poem ends in my calling you in Leidan. Mending things. Takes time. 

 

 

 

 

 Michael - Body part

All those leaves in the window/ waking up to the light/ walking down 5h ave/ for coffee/ in my arms/ a cold water bottle/ looking at your window/ there is a naked woman/ Holding AC/ laughing standing at your window/ with her boobs/ soft and white and round/ laying on the cold metal/ What I lack in your eyes? I see you giving her direction behind/ she’s laughing/ I squeeze my cold cold water bottle/ walk down 9th street / thinking about the coffee/ and this morning in bed.

 

a black water bottle

Right under your sink

that is where you keep

me

 

My animal loves your animal

You memorized that

on your wall

 

Every time we say goodbye

you feel that arrow

Going through mine

to your heart.

stitching them

together

but last week I held

you

I closed my heart

as you’ve got your woman

and I've got my man. 

These days.

 

I know nothing of future. I just pretend. And hope. 

 

 

 

 

Shahrzad - Childhood

I recall/ calling you every two weeks/ After you left our school/ We were girls/ and childhood stems of a stem/ Bounds of books/ What did you read just now/ That my brain picked up/ your story of stories?/ Shahrzad?/ I will not stay romantic for too long/ You are the savior of my brain/ mirror of my books/ listener of novels/ Looking at me/ From another cast/ Where did we belong?/ Upper cast? Or the middle one?/ Your likings of strange status bound connections/ But/ You come out of my mouth sometimes/ These days teaching middle school girls/ It’s you sometimes/ on tip of my tongue/ Telling girls/ To weave their brains/ With stories they find/ Let them air their hair/ For it’s not so far, where/ Our dreams can be covered with/ Someone else’s dark things of life.

 

He became the bearer

Of a house

so big our thoughts took refuge

In his money

In places they found

Around that mansion

Crows were singing

songs of a life

so abundant to oblivion

Never will remember

To see you were his savior.

 

He will not remember.

Until one day

sitting by that window

Crows start singing your song,

Stories of a man so young

Who forgot how abundance

can slit throats

And break hearts.

 

And will bear the weight

Of a thousand words unsaid

un heard

for years

you weren’t

there

in his house

And my mind. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mostafa - A tall soft man

As you said, it does not matter if older is you, or me/ Laughters explode regardless spilling from the ceiling on the walls with you, sleepless night of montage of films of famous godfathers of homeland’s filmland which is honestly baby of a revolution burying literature and words under ash of time so speaking is a fault. But you still had words and we both, old enough at the 20s and 40s to fly around grabbing one another hand finding spots in dark cities until the complex of a phallus so small like an old spell breaks sprayed in our eyes pepper after 10 years is done. No one knows how I live without your comfort all around. But I want for myself not to have you, are the evil of my life, bringing the smell of Salix Aegyptiaca in to my days, leaving my drenched every time in blood. 

DSC_0080.JPG

 

 

 

 

Sara - Bracelets

First grade of highschool/ Under headscarves/ We had a garden/ She drew/ I wrote/ We spoke on phone for hours

 It was not right/ for us to talk/ hours and hours/ Our parents/ Asked for the halt.

We couldn’t

talk

anymore.

 

Neither me, Nor Sara. became engineers

We just couldn’t count/ when images danced with word pits in our minds.

 

Sara a designer/ Me a lost wordie/ Studying films/ Until she loves cupcakes/ Opens a shop/ Sarah Cake Studio/ She draws with hearts/ cakes/ riding all kids hearts.

 

There was a day when Sarah/ had a husband/ three pastry stores around town lived in a tower/ in North of Tehran. When she stopped looking at me/ looking at herself in her laptop/ needing/ to be seen/ like herself she was/ So I left the coast/ to leave her/ to remember the bounds we lost.

 

2014-04-23_1398255672.jpg

 

 

That’s your art

Covering the floor

With what you love

Saying gratitude

to heavens above

To help you all the time

and they do.

 

I thought.

Hanging on to material goods

was your thing

but you

never did good in it.

two weeks ago

Someone close calls on my phone 

breaking the news reminding me

It's you I've lost. 

 

I still eat in the plate you bought me.