civilized objects

I couldn’t fall asleep last night
the drunken laughter of Khomeini
Deep down
From his sticky tomb
Was too loud

Neda,
When your blood
Shed the love worshiping ground of Iran
Still, I thought he was dead

The blush burst of the sun
On the impatient sky
At dawn, suddenly
Reminded me
Of his raised long cracked glass
Overfilled with the blood of Iranian youth
Commemorating Mohammad’s invasion
1,400 past years
And his grim smile toasting
At each cry of Allah-o Akbar

It is now another lovely day
And you are absent at your philosophy class
I wonder if it had made any difference
If you’d double majored in history
Would you had seen the innumerous Neda’s blood
Dripping from his fangs?

Davoud Bahrami
June 22, 2009