Archive for April, 2013

“for he too is a dreamer”

i think of minarets
and how they douse the earth with fire
while you swing from crooked branches
ever sweet
in your marshmallow-white attire
so calm is your brightly scented vision
a hint of licorice lingering
just beyond your emerald gaze
as you travel through the market
seeking out the gathering
passing moments of ephemeral joy
while the little girls
in their little dresses
place morning flowers in your hair
they bend and sway
like young poplars in the sun
but just as quickly they are gone
back to homes and mothers
and as they vanish freely
like a hungry broken heartache
you wonder how they live
how their courtyard waters flow
and you imagine yourself with them
reading stories by the lamplight
but this is not to be
for your destiny lies elsewhere
though so far it does elude you
like a fairytale casting strangers
you hope to meet with your desire
before the moonbeams burst and fire
and though i cannot tell you
who sings out from that spire
i simply must inform you
there is a man amongst the shadows
he is made of broken light
and even now he is searching wildly
wishing nothing more than to catch your sight
for he too is a dreamer
wondering long into the night
and one day he will find you
and in his arms will hold you tight

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 4/30/13


“the lonely loving ground”

lines in the driving rain
like so many clutching hands
in a blue world of faithful clouds
and the shapes that they make
and the atmosphere they create
tunneling through this brushing light
wiping away the heavy mist
from furrowed brows
and dimpled smiles
so delicate are they
these little women
gone and found resting
together they sit upon the scarring plain
like chess-carved pieces
living as they do
on this board of worlds found
calculating genuine movements
in their dull and brown hand-me-downs
tension like lightning in the breast
heads swooning to a fever pitch
they wait for love’s invasion
an army of distant souls
beyond some nearing hill
waiting they must be
and in their lonesome cunning
an embrace will be found warming
in that certain calming way
such that only lovers know
and when the union comes
when hands touch pulsing wrists
they will walk and talk for hours
never knowing of the risk
but for others that have found it
forever in their envy shall it remain
like secrets buried deep
in the shadows of the moon
until the story plays again
until the women they are found
deep in the hidden clearing
just beneath the stars
like the flowers dead and gone
the faded colors shifting sweetly
here in this windswept place
known to most as only
the lonely loving ground

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 4/29/13

“bird song”

songs form like shadows in the afternoon
they are born of warm black vinyl revolutions
mapping out the injured soul beneath that cotton dress
where nimble feet and painted toes wrestle in the spring grass
alone and happy
twisting in the backyard bloom
her eyes tuned in harmony
a sea of wind torn petals in the air
children racing on their bikes next door
the blacktop gravel gently vibrating
while sheets form billowing clouds
enveloping her body in a silky dust
she sings from coffee stained lips
but in the silence no one can hear
or perhaps i am wrong
there are birds drawing near
they are nestled on fence posts
and in the trees just beyond
gathered for this moment
drawn from above
they are captive like an audience
in this theatre filled with sound
astonished by the beauty of this thing on the ground
and they wonder in their way
as birds often do
but soon disappear
wings striking towards heaven
like so many notes in the sky
and she wonders for a moment
as women often do
will they come back tomorrow
if her song remains the same
or will they travel to another
not knowing how she longs
to sing with the birds
alone on her lawn

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 4/22/13

“your future awaits”

the fate of all the worlds is resting
here in my bright orange cup
a small litter of tea leaf destinies
waiting for the scribes and soothsayers of old
they are born of rags
and of richly ornate carvings
for now they speak in tongues
and in rhymes of riddled reason
pointing toward these maps so golden
born of starry-eyed designers
a ripple in the waves so transient
they crest and plummet boldy
like so many divers in the sky

and the coffee grounds
they are simply there for the reading
a novel penned in flecks of darkness
like the twisted tails of trailing vines
they roll and tumble
and scheme like secrets
tossed from lips
born in the scattering dust

they take of you
and in the telling
they awake in you the hours
that long to grow and bound
forming in your mind
like the gold in your teeth
and the silver in your hair

you are breathing just so now
atop the blistering mountain
as you rush to wake the others
the gentle souls that slumber
pondering streaks of sunshine
that run molten through the air
and like your moccasin feet found warming
they hide your clutching toes
bounding from your precipice
to the lonely world below

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 4/12/13

“going home”

we swing in the red dust of long broken miles
our eyelashes tingling in the static
and just below the rattle and hum
blue ocean waves lap the shoreline
as we pass through this colored day
there are houses on the hill
where calico cats gently step and slide
where the zest of lemons sweeten the air
they make of me a memory-worn vessel
drowsily sipping life
here in a state-less nation
wound up like a fire branding scorn
i must step now from my chariot
and knock upon these doors
to find the hidden secrets
for they are always, sometimes trapped
alone in their high and dusty attics
in their mother’s heirloom safe
or perhaps they are just resting
buried in the shallows
merely inches beneath the floor

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 4/3/13

“the painter”

all the pads are swaddled in lilies
and the creatures dart and dive
while couples lay resting
slowly breathing
simple forms in the afternoon sun
and all the painters are painting
their wrists are dancing
swiftly creating
a picture of swollen time
all the while the rivers are bending
they flow and burn
lifting smooth artifacts
and placing them among the rounded pebbles

but just beyond the trees
wheels are racing
and mothers are washing
they cast away both dirt and sin
quickly arranging the day
complex variations steeped in summer sweat

these are the days of splendor
when happiness becomes motion
transcending both air and sound
filling the wind with soulful musings
like a million monarch butterflies
pushing the sails of eternity
to grasp the unknown shoreline
where hours become days
and seconds are lost forever

i ask you now
wherever will you be
when next the painter unfurls
his canvas gleaming white
asleep in bed at home
or perhaps just maybe
if the stars align this night
you will be dancing underneath them
in a forest filled with light

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 4/2/13

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