Dead Poets Society
dead poets society
(for Shaimaa El-Sabbagh, Hashem Shaabani, et. al.)
they don't languish there
on a shelf near the top
counting the dust specs
from the florescent light above
they languish on the streets
in the squares outside the
cafe debates of high thought
they hang around - from cranes
casting down on the citizens
deadly glances of what words
will reap if they get too noticed
rounded cheeks and purple faces
I did not know those personally
anymore than I knew the dusty
runes of ancient poets long dead
their bones lain on the top shelf
they align up the grave queue like
the dominoes of political games
that cannot be played out without
an appreciation of reading red
her purse gone, his playlist too
now, someone else hears his songs
now, someone else rubs her sweat
who love God as they damn this moment?
these, the creatures of God approved
we, all diminished when poets slain
blood of anguish now flows their words
she asks, "why do things have to end this way?"
© Goodguysoul 2015-02-06
http://arablit.org/2015/01/26/a-letter-in-my-purse-from-slain-poet-shaimaa-el-sabbagh/
http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/02/11/the-poet-iran-executed.html
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