Poems on Politics

Hands in Tehran        Download MP3 Download MP3     Listen to MP3 Listen to MP3

My dark stained small hands
that peeled fresh walnuts
and saved the white flesh
for marble pyramids
have since whitened
in their longing
for a cherry tree
to climb.

I look back at the roads
cluttered with broken pyramids
dried nails of dahlia petals
and crushed earrings of cherries.

Afraid of becoming robed
in black like a crow
with the fingers and face of a woman,

How can I go home?

Note - The two lines in italics are from F. Farrokhzad.





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