Rain of Liberation ( باران رهایی )

Foaming streams

spill from the lip of the gutter—

a storm’s fierce anger

speaks

as it pounds the earth.

The cloud, obsessive,

longs to cleanse

the bitter mouth of soil

with sweeping floods.

The endless drumming of rain

on the roof

has kindled

a chaos.

The cloud twists upon itself,

as though

with every thunderclap

it battled

its own being.

The wind,

grappling with naked branches,

scatters the last golden strands

of the trees.

A percussive duet of wind and rain,

and the wandering leaf

that refuses the fall

onto the cold earth.

Yet your unrivaled presence

fills autumn

with the memory of the colors in your eyes,

escaping the sealed chest

of remembrance.

Within the ruins

it rests,

weary of time’s deaf rotation.

And the heart

clings to a narrow window

in the heavy wall of silence,

hoping

that an autumn storm

will hang the radiant image of all seasons

upon the crossroads

of liberation.

Arsalan – Wiesbaden

September 24, 2025