Amoo Farhad

By: Hydeh

 

In te changing colors

Of the ocean,

In the poetic chill that

Makes the autumn leaves fall,

In the brightness of

The silent moon,

And the mysterious awe

Of the milky way,

In the holy ritual of

Making tea,

Pouring tea,

Drinking tea,

In all the music that

Can not touch the soul any deeper,

In all the poems that

Make you smile with a nod or

Cry with an ache,

I miss you.

 

I never did the holy ritual of tea right,

I never let my soul be vulnerable enough

To the awe of music

Or my heart brave enough to enter

The realm of soul-shattering poems.

But, I tried,

As I tried to follow you,

You, the noble prince

Of honor, honesty and beauty.

You the prophet

Of lost forgotten words,

Words strange to everybody,

Words that were always ignored

For fear of losing the standards.

I looked for your uniqueness,

Everywhere I went,

Everywhere I stopped,

And every time I started a new life.

It was always going to be an impossible and

Fruitless search.

 

Nobody could be as real and

Honest as you.

You shied away all beauty

With your unbearable beauty.

And now…

With wrinkles on my face and gray in my hair,

And now,

With a body that is broken

And a soul that is lost

More than ever

 

I forgive everybody

For not being

As honest,

For not being

As real

For not being as passionate

And for not being as unique

As you.

You the fountain of

Un bearable beauty in the

Land of vultures.

You the rose

That never stops blooming

 

I never really saw you

Until you traveled  so far away.

My dear uncle,

My dear friend,

My lonely prophet of

Beauty and sorrow,

Please forgive me

For everything you wanted me to be,

I failed you.

My hands were always empty

And yet

My hands ache to give to you

All I never had

And all you never asked for.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

بيوگرافي .عكس .نامه ها

بريده جرايد .انتشارات

 

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