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
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 4
- In collections: NEW POEMS.
Offline)
Comments2
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
Woe.
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