The leafless shrub in the desert
neither fearing the storm
nor trembling at the desert's scorching heat,
longs for the mirage of white
to quench the thirst
of parched earth
The lotus stem
neither drunk on the cedar's height
nor humbled by the earth’s embrace
holds a spring-born yearning
to spread its wings
into the bright arms of day
The vision of the old sycamore
neither broken by autumn’s cruelty
nor by winter’s biting cold
longs for a bird
to sing a love song
upon its shoulders
Yet surely
a gaze wandering through the city’s sorrow
is free neither from the desert years of yearning
nor from the lotus’ desires
It seems, perhaps
lost only in the dream of an image
holding within it
the trace of a child’s joy
eternal
Arsalan – Tehran
April 12, 2020
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