Thursday, November 10, 2005

Fog At Dawn


The gazals I memorized in school are ancient poems, somewhere between a fairy tale and a story of eternal longing. In the poems I read from Nizami, I could never imagine a young maiden trotting about on ordinary, mortal legs. Beautiful young maidens float inches above the ground. Either that, or they dance. Their arms and hands tell a story. Their eyes are mirrors. Their dance is pure metamorphosis - from flesh and blood into light, memory, and song.

Fog At Dawn

somewhere between fairy tale

and a story of eternal longing

an ordinary mortal

floating inches above the ground

your eyes spelling flesh and magic

you are relentlessly absorbing;

frost on ornamental gourds

hollow, precious, rattling ceremonial

the precious kiss

a river where history bends its knees

and my heart submerges

dark and violent

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