what is rare in this life?
two hundred thousand bodies dancing in unison
effecting random number counters that log the power of human emotion
the souls of dead presidents that still walk the earth
speaking softly and carrying a big stick
to explore the poles of your imagination
finding magnetic zero and laughing all the way
what dark sounds rise in the canopies
what hot air shames breath to exit
are we searching for diamonds again
buried as they are in south african soil
coated with the blood of child soldiers
staining the pendant chests of central park queens
or is it the gold of south america
laid out in mayan smallpox graves
or some other precious stone
value determined in death
some would say it is the canvas
on which we tell our story
born out through the ages
like so many colored shades of grass
swaying in the wind
they leave their imprint
the fossils of what once was
they cry for what we have lost
never to be returned
and so,
on sad days come sad words
that some may choose to overlook
but sadness is the north
and proves the opposite
happiness to be unknown without
i turn you now
toward the pendulum that swings
and i ask of you again
what is rare in this life?
the beginnings of a baby’s smile
first attempts at laughter
and the joy it brings
birds of paradise rejoicing
on south pacific shores
unseen as of yet by men
and the ancient mariner aloft
looking down from his mast at sea
three hundred and sixty degrees of separation
he knows you and you know me
and in the end
what will we become
a handful of memories
soon to be forgotten
but not by mother and not by son
and the circle will not be broken
it cannot be undone
for in the time of loving
we know not the setting sun
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 2/16/12
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