The Gawky Schizoid

A poem by Mona Jafari

Scrambling in drying concrete as her bed every night,

Pray tell, what comes of a face that can never see the sea light?

What of the skin insulated from the clumpy beach?

A dream deferred is what fall narratives preach;

A dream deterred that fails to stir a speck through a sieve,

Bogged down, will it shut its eyes forever to grieve?

Tied down, will it bury its deafened ears?

As it can never hear the melody of waves?

A melancholy as smooth as Schubert’s notes;

Aren’t dreams a brittle fort of quicksand for dolts?

The breeze that curdles in every nook?

The melancholic words of just a favorite book?

There I see the icy blizzard around the corner,

Frosting the imagination until hell freezes over;

It will embrace all the petty dreams,

Yet there may be some peace in its chills.

At a later date we will meet,

Then so be it.


About the poet: Mona Jafari is a poet and postgraduate student of English Literature based in Tehran.

Artwork: detail from painting titled “Escape” by Iran Darroudi.

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