● Winter Without Lullaby
Sometimes, when flight lingers in my wings,
the sky rests upon my hands,
void of snow and the passage of time,
and the moon,
with its mouth wide open to fire,
and the lullaby of a mother absent—
a cradle sways in the midst of life.
Weave your hair,
from fire to pomegranate,
on winter’s first night.
● Dance of the Dandelion
From the softest breeze,
only what remains for me—
dandelions sway.
● Nameless Garments
Today passed like the counting
Of shirts hanging, lifeless, on a line—
A shirt, pocketless, buttonless,
Adorned with roses of blood.
And the room,
Now fully become a window,
Still filled with the hum of planes,
Forcing my eyes to close.
My lips taste of gunpowder, of dust—
And the edge of your scarf, torn, still clings.
□
Where did you leave your body,
In which nameless grave of the forgotten?
● Lost Lines
The sky
tumbled from the ceiling of your mouth,
where endless kisses
became a desire.
At the dawn of each word,
you stand—
beyond the autumn air,
a whisper of clouds
and the breath of your memory,
making today feel even more like a Sunday.
● Dream—
a reality on the street,
a half-smoked cigarette
abandoned
on the sidewalk.
Rasoul Moarek Nejad
A poem from the poetry collection “Improvisation”, published in 2016 by “Gofteman Andeisheh Moasser” Press