**The One Who Resists**

*by Arsalan – Tehran, May 21, 2025*

Swift quanta of light

fall upon soil, stone, and stream

with such fierce descent

that hidden flames burst into bloom—

a rainbow stretches, bold and vast,

across the trembling face of earth.

The proud vine rises,

whispers of budding petals in the wind

brush the pale ceiling of clouds,

mocking the meager height

of grass below.

From the narrow gorge,

the soul of the river

and the naked body of water

speak in thunderous union—

and on the cheeks of moss,

spring-scented drops

emerge,

blushing with quiet shame.

The galloping stallion of day

races toward

the wide gates of dusk.

With the sun’s mournful descent

into the arms of night,

a cradle of sleep

is gently made.

Amid this ever-whispering hum,

a presence lingers—

timeless,

flowing through soil and wind,

fire and water,

morphing

from one shape into another.

It dwells in soul and stone alike:

in the colorless breath

of breeze through the orchard,

in the slumbering heart of earth,

the patient pulse of rock,

the steadfast rise of trunk—

in all that is,

and all that is not.

At each breath,

it is neither this nor that—

but what it is

is not what was,

and what becomes

is never what seemed.

From the unseen dawn of eternity

to the boundless hush of origin,

it propels the soul forward—

and each time,

intoxicated with light,

it lifts the sun again

through the narrow corridor of day,

placing it

upon the blue vault of sky.

Beside such tumult and becoming—

if only

I could weave a dwelling

from the rainbow of desire

and the clarity of rivers,

so that this dim-lit house

might forever shine

with the eternal presence

of the sun.