Nowruz
The mirror breathes beneath my palm—
twelve days polishing chrome and calm.
Sabzeh¹ sprouts in jam-jar earth,
each blade a green and tender birth—
a promise held through patient hours,
while mother counts rice grains and saffron flowers.
The goldfish circles, bored by glass,
as hours drip like drops that pass.
What grows inside that cannot be named?
A hunger neither blessed nor shamed—
I watch my trembling hand arrange
an apple next to violets' range.
We set the table for mice that bear
crumbs to rooms where grandfather's chair
still holds his coat, its smoky bloom,
while flames lean close in twilight's gloom.
At midnight, when the year turns sharp,
the vinegar slaps bright on my heart—
how sour turns sweet, yet slips away,
the sweetness never here to stay.
Mother's hand touches my shoulder light,
hyacinth breathes between dark and bright—
between her worn and my clean skin,
a silent space where dreams begin.
Outside, Tehran dims its lights—
a city swallowing silent nights,
its prayers folded in the dark,
waiting for the new day's spark.
---
Footnotes:
1. Sabzeh: Green sprouts (typically wheat, barley, or lentils) grown in dishes for the Haft-Sin table, the traditional Persian New Year spread featuring seven symbolic items beginning with the letter "S" in Persian.
2. Nowruz: Persian New Year celebrating the spring equinox, observed for over 3,000 years across Iran and neighboring cultures.
Copyright © Saeed Koushan | Year Posted 2025
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