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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20
Jun
Posted by jasonstaroftheeast in Uncategorized. Tagged: artifacts, azure, birds, blog, blogger, blogging, born, circles, coffee, conversation, dancing, dream, dreamer, dreaming, dreams, feet, flags, fountain, fruit, green, heart, home, kiss, land, light, lips, markets, moors, mud, one, outside, poem, poems, poet, poetry, poets, silence, sky, soft, spice, spirit, steam, summer, think, thinker, thinking, thoughts, touch, world, write, writer, writing, yearning, yellow. Leave a comment
fleet of foot
on wide slanted lines
precious little artifacts
hidden in the moorish design
glistening azure tiles to the sky
white hot roof tops
and spice market flags
they shift and flap
high above the mud walls
and the summer fountain yards
beads turn over clutched hands
nimbly building prayers of glass
shattering spirited worlds
affecting far removed hearts
away in the fields of some distant land
and there, among the banyan trees
shade grows long with the day
turning and pressing the jam scented fruit
soon to be on its way
to coffee houses filled with steam
a taste between conversations
and the words they carry home
will fit like the scabbard blade
passing between lips
unknown they will digest
with a passing sleight of hand
a forehead kiss goodnight
the dreamers will have dreamed
they will awake
to mornings yellow light
hearing the sounds of silence
and the birds aloft in flight
crossing endless landscapes
around and round they go
always back to where they started
but they do not even know
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 6/20/12
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