10
Dec
Posted by jasonstaroftheeast in Uncategorized. Tagged: ancient, antique, antiques, battle, battles, children, daughter, daughters, death, dream, dreams, embrace, fabric, families, family, father, fathers, flag, flags, form, forms, heart, hearts, husband, husbands, love poem, love poems, mother, mothers, poem, poem about love, poem blog, poems, poet, poetry, poetry blog, poetry writer, poetry writing, poets, poets blog, possession, possessions, son, sons, soul, souls, stranger, strangers, the small things, tiny home, tiny homes, tiny house, tiny houses, travel, travelers, urban sprawl, war, warmth, wife, wives. Leave a comment
we were born of the antique and ancient forms
our stories woven from the fabric of our dyed and twisted yarns
like the wreckage of so many voyages lost and long
those travelers floating over poles
our souls on the battlefields mourned
we are assembled from the glass of mirrors that have passed
from the love of our mothers and our fathers dead and gone
in the comfort of our rituals we are dressed in softly stolen silks
and we think upon those travelers
those many bridges they have crossed
we wonder how their flags are planted
where the mountains meet the sky
and now we live as strangers
our families just so splintered
we are driven and we are torn
the swollen weight of our possessions
the magnificent size of our earthly homes
but what we need is tiny
it fits inside our hearts
a formation of the soul
it cannot be found in store fronts
or in those luminous shopping malls
it lives just near the fire
and in your child’s warm embrace
sometimes driving madly
but always in the end
our only true possession
perhaps a wife or son or daughter
it may just be a lover or a dream that never ends
and perhaps…
even just a friend
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/10/14
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6
Dec
Posted by jasonstaroftheeast in Uncategorized. Tagged: afghan, afternoon, air, apples, blog, blogger, blogging, born, cars, cold, dance, dancer, dancing, darkness, delight, doors, doorways, dream, dreamer, dreaming, dreams, dust, embrace, emptiness, face, fire, follow, footsteps, foreign, forgotten, fragrant, fraying, golden, grass, great, green, happy, heirloom, homes, lay, light, lovers, memory, metal, moisture, one, orange, outdoors, outside, painting, peacful. siren, pictures, plain, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poets, reconcile, rest, ring, rust, safey, shadows, smell, smoke, soft, soldiers, song, swoon, syrian, think, thinker, thinking, thoughts, thresholds, tickles, time, touch, walking, warm, wash, wind, wonder, wondering, write, writer, writing, yarn, yearning, zest. Leave a comment
the wind tickles my face
like the fraying strands of yarn
from an old afghan heirloom
distant songs wash over me
they still ring in my ears
like a peaceful muted siren
and the smell of orange zest
lingers fragrant and happy
foot soldiers come out of the light
covered in syrian dust
such strange things we reconcile
as we lay resting
on couches in the afternoon’s golden swoon
they follow
like shadows on the grass
as we pass from our doorways
to the great emptiness outdoors
walking and wondering
with footsteps in time
the cold smell of moisture in the air
and the green rust of sculpted metal
painting pictures in our canvassed memory
further now in cars
as the smells turn from warm apples to smoke
the safety of our homes long forgotten
wheels bouncing along the concrete plain
they bring us through doors
through differing thresholds
and in those rooms of foreign delight
where fire lifts the darkness
we seek warm embrace
to make sense of it all
in the arms of our lovers
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/6/12
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