You spoke of a world
Where the rainbow of spring
Was painted
On the wings of the enchanted butterfly
And the breeze
From the bright rooftop of dawn
Had heard
The bird’s love song
As a whispered melody
So that the great feeling of growth
Would bubble up in the blood of the earth
And the joyful scent of blossoms
Would overflow the sorrow of the soul
In the clamor of acacia and lilac
You spoke of the burning fever of the sun
Which had hidden a secret
In the golden body of the vine
As a borrowed mystery
To ignite a fire
On the cheek of the rose
In the solitude of the night
And with the music of the wind
To make the golden wheat’s locks
Dance wildly on the green canvas of the plain
You spoke of the amber rain on leaves
And the cloaks of trees
That had colored
The sorrowful gaze of the city
With seven brushes
And had purchased
The innocent flight of migratory birds
Singing a song of longing
On the crimson line of the horizon
Alas, in the end
The furrowed forehead of the sky remained
And the winter of hands that still
Had reverently
Read the warmth of your breath
In secret
Arsalan, Tehran
18 June 2023
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