22 Feb
pollen lingers in the air
like the dust of angels
resting on a field of forgotten numbers
born of long division remainders
in a tomb of winter bells
no longer sounding
we are far from frosted white beaches
far from the capes and coves that shelter
here is where the voices mingle
in the windless halls and old theatres
just outside the walls of braided grass
green with envy
alone in the darkest wood
and breathing…
just breathing
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 2/22/13
19 Sep
words are scattering through a prism
forming colors in the fall air
they bound from lip to ear
cascading down to form glistening pools
soon to be frosted over
trapped and waiting for release
couples are strolling arm in arm
creating patterns in the waning day
they step from house and home
forming lines of chaotic display
soon to be dusty and forgotten
saddened by the coming storm
why come the thoughts of night
intruding with sheer delight
over folds and fires
gleaming in the backyard distant
how come the tears that stream
driven down cheekbones curving
over eyes and lashes
dry now in the salty burn
these little questions run
like deer in the morning meadows
they hide among the splintering grass
alone in the middling heart
tearing at the fabric of civilization
buried deep in the mounding soul
and sometimes comes a woman
a vision sharp as sight
with a voice that sounds of angels
when they cry alone at night
they sing and shine like starlight
bolting arrows with quivering might
and when they reach their target
a piercing so divine
we find that we are no longer strangers
simply born of different times
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 9/19/12
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