Posts Tagged ‘warmth’

“tiny home”

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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when comes summer?

cars on the water

swimming in a glass

half-full of morning laughter

and the tire-irons rusting

like restless creatures

tall in the grass and singing

like wands in the woodshop carving

and crowns that lay alone sleeping

they wait for spirits and the leaving

while the boats on land are steaming

there they search for the horizon bleeding

orange and gold and glistening

we are the shadows that grow in that distance

and the mighty clouds that weep

we are the static in the air

and the hearts that swell and swoon

we sweat and sway

our cheeks they gently brush

for we are the pollen and the nectar

our sweet confections crafted

of angels, food and cake

and when we speak of visions

in the straining hour of dawn

we think upon the hillside

looking down over the hills and farms

and we know of the children waking

and the bliss of beds and homes

we think then of the warming

when comes the sun this morning?

a disc alive and bright

we move swiftly through the acres

through the channels carved in stone

wishing only for this moment

one more summer here alone…

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 3/3/13

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