foolstory

daastaan

the forest is far from us . in those days
our old man . toldened me . lives at the end
of the tracts . by the hasheesh fields
landrings curved . away so he see
the olive groves and the kurdish village
one autumn day . the sun special . crim zone
the air sweet . dusty wets warm
the old he pace and prepares in surlience
when he the slow . turning of a cart
a kurdi family . beauty like simple
child steps forth and staring rigid scared
a toy with red and blue . batcheh koochik
this small omid . naked hope
but hung from a necklace of crusted jade
an eye to protect . worth only love
the cart rolls off and mother was child again
old clipped his donkey and made his saddle
with his warm . parcel drove to the route
to the house at the top . praying throughout
as the maid answers us
and placed my worry beads on childhead

the dust picked up again and swept seeds
and petals across the courtyard