He struck his chest with a fist
hoping perhaps
pain might find the chance to scream
He clawed at the ground
seeking to open a path for a glance
and quench the thirst of his soul
The cloud roared
and the wailing of rain
could be seen
on the hunched shoulders of the mountain
The wind
ran madly through the trees,
dragging itself upon the earth
casting dust
upon the cold silence of stone
A sorrowful autumn
scattered a handful of leaves into the air
and even fall
without a sound
had arrived
Arslan – Tehran
August 9th, 1402
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