The thirsty claws of the storm
grasp the wrinkled skirts of the plains
The crimson of the soil
is smeared on its body
and the heat of breath
scatters on the white canvas of the horizon
to lay a scarlet carpet
of the desire of poppies
beneath the steps of the day
The stubborn stillness of the night
in the turmoil of dawn
flees from the alleys of isolation
And the arrow of Arash's bow
drawn by the stars
aims at the evil eye of Esfandiyar
so that the patient song of the dawn
may rise from the rooftops
and the song of the dew
may fall upon the face of the city
The old cornice of the porch
in the astonishment of the wall
draws the violet lights
into the silence of the alley
And the garden
from the suitcase of spring’s dowry
dresses the ancient body of love
in fresh attire
to seat a rainbow from the dawn of rain
in your incredulous eyes
and sweep away the nightmares of the night
from the courtyard of the home
The wind too, it seems
is shedding its weariness
Arsalan - Tehran
26th of Bahman, 1399
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