The grim shadow of a mirage
Gazes upon the voicelessness of a tiny planet
Overflowing with blood and madness
It wails
Silence
Was the outcome of a futile journey
To plant a flame of love in the gaze
To release the restless soul
From the leaden shades of hatred and curse
And to drip a fresh word
Into the pure veins of life
It seemed forgotten
That poetry
Is the clarity of passion and the ecstasy of words
A burning ember
That escapes the narrow throat of the pen
To rise with a stroke
On the white canvas of paper
And battle the darkness
It had long been forgotten
That night belongs to the lineage of filth
A poison
That steals the flame of the gaze
And opens the grim doorway of surrender
Upon the restless body
!But I
I am neither the Azazel of hell nor the harbinger of heaven
Just the narrator of a sorrowful tale
Written to the rhythm of a beating heart
To adorn the gem of the soul
With the strings of an instrument
To release a bound foot from pain
And in the rain of a victorious song
Rest for a moment
Alas, this earth
Was darker than an abyss
That could be imagined in thought
And upon the sorrowful body of poetry
No more dust
Could be added
Arslan – Tehran
December 14, 2023
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