There I was
on the pedestal, looking down; there was dust swirling
the deep well of the white mosque
mounting the hearts somehow.
Oh, there were so many colourless things.
I remember the soundless birds,
were they there?
I may have seen dying jasmins
all around the open field
filled with cold winter.
There I was sitting up in the layer of the cloud
, unhappy
walking barefoot in the land, unknown to me.
Why did I need to go to far places in my head
away from the clutter,
to many places bursting into my thoughts?!
I see one, two, oh, so many of disfigured faces
the rusty blade of the butcher's knife
oh, how I feel sad for the mother lamb.
Tears are a part of me,
I declared to myself that long ago.
Nobody knew it but my mother.
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Author:
Shahla Latifi (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 10th, 2026 10:08
- Comment from author about the poem: Sometimes, poetry symbolically reveals the deeper layers of the poet's being. Throughout my childhood and teenage years—despite living a relatively comfortable life filled with books, imagination and a soul deeply in love with beautiful things—I sensed the pain and suffering of the world around me. I laughed less than others, yet felt things more deeply, as if nature's raw hand had been driven into my sensitive heart.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell
- In collections: NEW POEMS.
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Comments4
It is a poem that starts light and ends heavy. The feel of heaven that is nature's mercy and the pain of a mother in the loss of a child. Tender and terrible in one pass of a knife. Well written
Thank you.
My pleasure Shahla
Woe.
I'm thinking you're in heaven looking down in woe.
Though heaven doesn't seem to be doing it for you either.
Feels like a life of loss and total frustration.
Many can relate.
Thank you.
There is ambiguity in this poem, as its images and words allow for multiple interpretations without making it clear which meaning the poet intends.
Thank you for reading and commenting on this poem.
You are most welcome.
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