Zen Zendigi Azadi Poem, by coracaodacripta, at My poetic side

I was there, the night before

When the stars fell to the pavement

Like a swarm of lightning bugs, butts crushed by the same boot

Stepping on my neck

Gun shots

Ring in my ears like a migraine

And the crackling of fire burning up parliament

Resounded in the type of memory

That tells of a future

In the death of the past.

Everyone is fighting for a life

And for lives that have been lost

That in a world so preoccupied with survival

Have forgotten to prosper

And cannot move on.

Someone shouts at the top of their lungs when my bones crack

But I can hear them

"ZEN ZENDIGI AZADI!"

I don't think a minute is wasted before the barrel is pointed to my temples

And in that instant

There is no closure

Faces masked by a paint

(White, red, and green)

And mandibles concealed by bandanas

Boring the nature of the true Persian flag;

Spirited by the empowerment of its ornate correspondence

I was there, the night before

And as my loved ones sought me out in the pile of ash

And the pile of bodies

I was there, the night, and the one after

Seeking the end

To all the redemptive fates

Of all those people

That fought to the end.

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