Poetry

Crystal

Take this, grounding crystal.
Activated under stark moonlight-
Distilled in gold sunlight.

You are my grounding stone,
but warm and sweet- make me feel tangy in night air.
sapphire eyes, I can behold this beauty at will.

Without whom I would be adrift
on white wisp clouds
and lose all buoyancy.

Linger

Casting spells in wishing wells
is not the way to go.
Throw back those locks
unchain your thoughts
Forget me where you ought-
to have taken me, caressing me,
holding me to this spot.

I want to expel this stain-
left in my brain,
a haunting love filled stroke,
You took the toke
Words left un-spoke,
still hiding in my memories.

Sentimental shadows dance upon walls of mercury in my mind-
You hold the stage.
I hold no rage,
just lonely lullabies.

Bequeathed

On the edge
of right and wrong
Stands silence in the throng-
held tightly in your breath
smoke softly through your chest.

The heart beats fast
knowing it musn’t have-
but wanting it so much.

To hold this view- this view of you
will have to last,
Eternal.

What am I to you-

another
An other.

I am
a victim
of Islamic Fundamentalism, and yet I am muslim.

Does this bend your mind in ways it cannot open?
But this is not an
alternative fact-
No,
this is my dystopian utopia, the new place I call home.

Yet,
I don’t want your remorse for a blind man’s actions.
I want you to see me, the same way you see yourself and your white neighbour.
This pain belongs to us all, not just my kind.

See me, the same way you see all the Sarahs. With an H or without.

“Well…” you said, “we are surprised.” The sun, glinting in your eyes, “This is Sarah.”
Yes, This is me. Not another.
“Well, we simply didn’t expect to see a Sarah with dark hair and dark eyes walk through our front door”—
Simply said. With kindness, of course.
I am never what you expect, but I always wish I were-
Just like you.

Being taught, in sacred places, with high ceilings, and whispered feelings- we are all one.
Then the sacred spills onto the streets and the words morph
through your grinning teeth. We are not the same, and the Other is to blame.
They did not melt enough
Nor, try hard enough to sound just like this clique:
The English Language tapes I heard my parents play as I fell asleep.
Walking the new roads and streets while practicing proper pronunciation.

OUR democratic institutions and political process are awash with a populist movement whose people need
Scapegoats
for the shortcomings of Liberal idealism that turned to Greed

There is no wisdom here just shame and Our lives are not the same.
Nothing connecting us as one,
So-
Different colours- take your gun.
Hold them tightly in your hand
The Gods are giving their commands,
who to follow, who to curse- –
while misery, rage, and blame
feel so holly in this game.

Lightly stitched

Lightly stitched,
we are,
With heavy hands, thick knuckles, thin skin.

A heavy heart, but lightly stitched.

We tenderize small wounds in the callousing walls of our heart chambers.
Between one another-

When the noise fades away, leaving only silence to weigh,
we cling-
tightly
to the fraying stitches,
because,
only
love
remains.

For generations

We were transfixed,
everything was
illuminated.
In one moment-
nothing remained the same.

And I am alright,
I am alright,
All right with change.

But, we have a quiet longing for
the dark side of this moon.
Pulling at our tiny cores, a reason to resume: warming milk on open fires, raising tents out in the sky, playing platitudes under sheets while daylight passes us by.

Safer than in heaven,
when no one knows your name.
Be careful what you wish for, animosity will remain,
once you open every door, the secrets were left hiding for.

The Vote

The anchor’s in their words.
You held tightly to the rope-
a lifebelt you had hoped, but no safe haven bespoke.
You, the masses, their scapegoat.

Throwing wicked
throwing lies,
They don’t care for your demise.
It’s the system, it’s their fame.
Your toil crowns their game.

The ones you smile and wave,
now aspersions on their names-
it’s the order,
take your number,
God is watching, but in vain.

Tehran, 1981

I woke up from my dream-
In the old house,
By the stairs

It was dusty
You were pale
After years of no one there-

Every nook every cranny had trace DNA
Evidence of you and me
Evidence we were once free.

Who took over those lives,
the ones meant for you and I
Our possessions are their prize
Our ruin-
Our demise.

Spoils from a war,
Nothing left for to adore-
No more lovely alibis-
only black cloaks in disguise.

On every building is his face
A fake smile made to erase
the sinister look in his eyes-
I hear their battle cries:
Ayatollah! they beg come.
a furtive battle has been won.

And we miss the mountains, heat, and sun;
it’s in vain.
Nothing holly here to gain.

Collision at the Caspian Sea

Peace is in me now; peace is in me.
It’s been howling in the woods,
far above the city,
for a dangerous number of years.
Waiting for the midnight-pacers to hear its call
from city lines
and seascape places.

I heard it,
in the thunder rolling hills-
Remembering
a long time ago
smoke swept you in its haze.
I searched to find a piece of your spirit-
did it still remain?
Smoke stung me-
made me cry.
An image burnt in the glimmer of your eye?
No time for your lies here.
I will shut them out.
With cement walls, built tall and miles long-
cobblestone upon cobblestone
I cut the clay
cobblestone upon cobblestone
I spread the cold grey
piece upon piece
between university classes
piece upon piece
Strong.
piece upon piece
between midnight dance classes
piece upon piece
Solidly grounded.
piece upon piece
between doctor appointments
piece upon piece
and long hazel-voiced calls
Each piece, a fortress for my pretty pink heart.

Meticulously,
now,
serene winds and sing-song tides
disintegrate
these walls and scars-
leaving my heart of havoc
a haven of forgiveness.

Peace is in me.
And also, in you.