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Moon and History (Free verse) by kawakurdi
O the moon that shines in her eyes
As big as your circle give a cleavage to this night
As big as a loop let me see the whiteness of body
Her chest, breast, her thighs, bottom cheeks, arms, neck and forehead
Mixed with wine
With soul's fantasy
Revive my strength for the sahara's travels
I can see the track of horse's shoes on my forehead
A staircase descends to hell
A ladder ascends to paradise
On the bridge of her love
I have been tied with a hair
Albeit, I am careless
I am careless about any chance, any conclusion
I write with imagination and look to God's dimension
On the white body, as big as moon's halo,
I am waiting for a rain to well up
A spring, a row of orchards to flow
Watering me with their whispers
Spoiling me with their aroma
For long my springs have been without daffodils
My autumns have been bereft of the blood of grapes
Our wheat flowers are charcoal stalks
The wind blows solely to wither my fingers
I did not reach the summit of the mountain
I didn't suck the horizon
I fell down the slope of history
Salah-al-Din's horses did not help me to hold on
The swords of Rostam did not put a bridge under my feet
The hammer of Kawa did not build a throne for me
The prayers of Abraham did not cool my furnace
The patience of Jacob did not pass my long night of pain
The Noah's ark did not take my drowning across
I will make a ship from the white-moon body
And start a sea voyage
Outside I smell
I smell foreigners
I smell spies and homeland sellers
I smell rotten love
A wind blows
It is all flame and rust
I see the heads of wheat flowers wilting
They droop until they fell under feet
History like a herd of wolves
Gathers around the moon's body
Lusty howls
Turn night into a flute for prey beasts
The dawn is the chilly body of a raped woman
Only the police approach her on the back of their wooden horses
They ask the woman to provide her fingerprint and DNA
They ask her to react the play of the swords
History screams
The herds of wolves recognise the smell of blood
They follow the traces of the detectives
Oh! My heart is tearing apart
O the moon which shines from her eyes
As big as your circle give a cleavage to this night.
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Arithmetic Mean: 5.75
Weighted score: 5.089402
Overall Rank: 6273
Posted: January 11, 2005 9:26 AM PST; Last modified: January 11, 2005 9:26 AM PST
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