Terror and Other Poems

From far away                        you bury your father wipe your mother’s tears        from far away in a café where you can ambush loneliness you chat with a weeping house video call from afar Mother            three steps above everything like a moon                 is up there kissing Mahsa (moonface) goes after Mahtab (moonlight) and yet her demeanour which carries a headache is the execution of my placeholder in the the arms of a few women In a banned house they’re all coming like I have left I’m in deep sorrow this sorrow of my words in Langrude at the foot of a bridge that’s more a stallion than running they killed my father they killed my father but only in Langrude otherwise each year someone’s leaving, breaking away Friday is a bleak house that was massacred and the family, the Iran which was executed at home since we chanced out of the loins of Eve and Adam became man’s exclusive pa we put Jesus in the Church so the hero so hidden in women’s loins would manifest instantly to send death that’s ahead of the horse far from the house At the foot of the bridge that so lacks a father as Jesus son of Merry I was so walking in myself as to put my town to shame Not so shamelessly as Juda to unleash wolves to kill the father I should keep quiet so the rabid dog won’t wake and bark and bark in the house and the blood letter lurking in female loins won’t get the chance to cut a wound in the morning now that the horse is the principle and death        the bailiff with the sorry state of my eyes that make a small sea for the frog to swim what do I do if I don’t risk no longer will few extra throats harbour such a lump that makes a necklace to my throat death is sat squatting in my sorrow the knife can no longer help my life the bottle is so full that any longer has no wine and the wound that has a depth of ruin is so effective that blood is random walking through my drunken veins the one who was my pathe big babathe  friend on roadthe one seenjamming with meI was left aloneAm aloneby my J’sam aloneby my J’smore alone by my J’s more than ever This alley is more for the job than a knife this house from the arm this pain will last another man this man will rise in another place the road’s father is from either side and death        that is life’s destination is the services café along the way It has a lantern but it’s dark has bitter tea   in narrow waisted cup but sweet like a lament spilling off the call of lovers A Ashura band of chest-beaters         this side of the waysinging            oh my Hosein             oh my HoseinA band of chest beaters                      that side of the alleyOh my standard bearer’s stature        where art thou? Like a nation bequeathed of Imam Hosein a home town is left behind from a little house at the end of a road in a remote place left behind A nation that put to fire its country like a match slayed the bedstead and morphed the spouse to a sea Long live the wind that was but late Long live the desert that has no sea and mother mother a mother who can no longer pin her lips onto my cheeks The road has a journey on …