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Mehri Rahmani
Poems
Iran
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In the Microwave,
The dish of loneliness is warming
somebody, near this fireplace
is snowing.
Some strangers is in this house,
have set a ceiling together.
Each of them, in the memory of the
faraway unique...
The sound of spoons are heard from
the room of loneliness.
In the hour of distance,
the dining table crowded with
unrelated books.
corn snow in the eyes,
attacks on the flames of ice.
Microwave rings,
I pick up the handset,
somebody is cut.
She has come back,
from a dream,
in which, they've planted flowers on
the boarders
when she gets to the border.
A thorny wire,
bites her skirt.
The flowers screams,
and petals hung over the thorny wire,
have a nightmare.
The mirror gives myself back to me.
And, I, behind the window,
till the people of the street, multiplicate.
All my pictures,
from my family album,
start to walk.
The street becomes full of me,
and the mirror still thinks that
has given me back to me.
Mirror, who has never seen me.
From every glance of yours,
two icy ball, in my eyes, melt.
The match in your hands, extinguish
I let up myself,
my shadow comes,
And, you will go with my shadow.
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