Alas, my childhood days swiftly passed.
The many trees of the village
And the scent of muddy alleys
Still linger,
Waiting for me.
Like a migrating swallow carrying the voices of its people, the village, sleepy yet awaiting, calls upon me: 'Come.
Years have gone by without you.
Come.
With eyes full of love.
See the withered flowers and the dusty stream,
And fill the empty medowe with your hands.
We long for you.
I have waited for you for many years.
Come.
Hurry, come, gracefully.
To see once more
The pattern of happiness on the stream's water.
Come,
So love can reach my roots,
And happiness can endure, once again.
Come.
Look into my sorrowful eyes,
Open the windows,
So that every leaf of mine can sprout,
And I shall happily pour the nectar of heaven into your lap.'
Shahla Latifi
June 2025
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Author:
Shahla Latifi (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 29th, 2025 09:02
- Comment from author about the poem: In memory of my birthplace, the village of Wasilabad. I value that place despite its imperfections. It taught me many important human qualities that are often overlooked. While I was raised with a broad city perspective, my roots are still a crucial part of my identity.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 1
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