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