The tangled skein of the alley
Was knotted around the trees’ necks
And the dry branch of the plane tree
Had become a perch
For drowsy birds
The garden’s green was fading
And the bars of red lights
Marched on the sidewalk
Hands of desperation
Scratched the glass
And the remnants of curses and insults
Overflowed from the gutters
In the stretched shadows of the wall
Working children
Ate charity meals
While the scent of halva
Filled the air
Sleep
Was justly distributed
In cardboard boxes
And pure goods had become scarce
In the magical box of the kaleidoscope of the city
Only a smoky shade of gray remained
Spreading from the white threads of cigarettes
Into the empty space of the room
The tangled skein of the city, too
Had choked the breath
And dragged the delirium of words
Onto the page
Arsalan – Tehran
August 17, 1402
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