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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