Saints ( قدیسان )

Stone upon stone will not remain,
I know.

The multitude of sashes and turbans,
And restless daggers.

The innocent gaze,
Clutching its heart
With a wick in its fist,
Hurled into eternity
With the final word,
The word that is the last.

Perhaps saints are like this,
Perhaps saints have spoken thus.

A bitter smirk
Upon the relentless cries of pain,
And the inverted image
Beyond the wall,
The far side of waiting,
Nailed to the cross,
In a baptism of this kind,
To purify
The sin of birth and being born.

Which throne dares to judge you
With the entirety of your being?

Thus the saints have come,
Thus the saints have gone.

Arsalan – Tehran
January 24, 2000