fires rise from the ocean swell
like the dust of marble columns
drenched in roman sweat
turquoise robes flow from windowed villas
swords lie rusting in the broken ground
and i wonder…
what ancient lyrics will be heard
as they roll across distant valleys
like windswept snow in a shattered globe
where will the sirens sing
as they stride across the wheated plain
like thistles in the marshy brush
so many muted hours
so many lonesome strangers
they carry words in billfold pockets
always knowing of the past
growing like an illusion
driven across the swirling blacktop heat
and in the deserts
where the nomads sleep
animals make curious noises
just outside the tented walls
like a great-winged migration
spanning distances that groan with heartache
for we are all here
taking steps and sweetly moving slowly
our footfalls echoing in time
and when the fire dies
and the ashes have come to rest
we will settle in for the evening
like so many others
in the warmth of our mother’s nest
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 5/14/13
poems365dotcom 
Posted by limseemin on May 30, 2013 at 2:24 pm
Like this “mother’s nest”. Thumb up for you!!