I come from the autumn
From the amber soul of fall
On the threshold of a white season
From the mournful flight of swallows
Amid the brittle rustle of dry leaves
On the cobblestone street
I come from the autumn
From the patter of an old gutter
With the relentless rhythm of raindrops
Endlessly falling from the roof’s worn eaves
From the storm's howling wind
Sneaking through the gapped teeth of the window
A preoccupation with warm clothes
And the escape from the evening's numbness
I speak of spring
Of the land’s generosity in water and green
Of the damp feeling as leaves sprout
Of the riotous pairing of blossoms
In the rain-drenched night
I speak of spring
Of the faith in blooming jasmine and redbuds
And of the pure streams that
Without a thought
Carry me away
I come from the autumn and speak of you
Of the shattered reflection
That with the dream of another spring
Watches the fall of the leaves
Arsalan-Tehran
29-04-2006
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