******* To make sure You have not said: "I love you," They smell your breath. They even smell your heart Trying times are these, my darling. They flog love Tied to the post of the cul-de-sac We must hide love in the closet. In this serpentine maze This crooked cold corner They feed the fire With poems and songs Thinking, too, is risky. Those who, late at night, knock on the door, Are there to kill the lamp. We must hide the light in the closet. Then there are the butchers Stationed at all cross-roads, Armed with a block and a bloody cleaver. Trying times these are, my darling. Surgically, They plant smiles on lips, And songs in the mouths. We must hide joy in the closet. On lilies and lilacs, They roast the canaries. Trying times these are, my darling. Drunk with victory, the Devil, Celebrates our wake. We must hide God in the closet. *******
one day we will find our doves again and kindness will hold beauty's hand. **** one day when the slightest hymn is a kiss and each man is a brother to each man. one day when they won't close the doors locks are myths and the heart suffices for living. one day when the meaning of each sound is to love lest on your last word, you seek a sound. one day when the rhythm of each word is life lest I suffer the scouring of a rhyme for my poem. one day when each lip is a melody so that the slightest hymn shall be a kiss. one day when you come back forever and kindness becomes beauty. one day when we will cast seeds for our doves... *** I will await that day even on the day when I no longer am.
Yellow hasn't become red for no reason the red hasn't cast its color upon the wall for no reason. *** Morning has come from that side of the Azadkoo mountains but Xazna Mountain is not clear. The power of the dimly-lit snow works all its chaos on every window-pane it settles. *** Xazna is not clear from this, I have a heavy heart; the guest-killing guesthouse's day is dark every soul jumbled together aimlessly: some sleepy people some uncouth people some simple people.
