Tryst edged ... Aurora whisper serendipitous saffrons,
e'er forging balms beamish strands to aerate crown's expanse, whilst bestrewn
lissome mists waltzes amongst errant gasp caught in rapture.
An ephemeral cloudburst evaporates on supine
silhouettes of the gods. Pristine manna with a sigh ... midst hollow
utter, guides dulcet zephyrs to petrichor arousals.
Purged euphoric realm steep in its prismatic solitude
poise, waft chimerical imagery effervescent caprices,
volley afar ... harks labyrinths mellifluous murmur.
Vesper, yon the zenith of Terra, breathe his claim toward
the cosmos, granting resplendent panacea a vestured vault,
... occasions an epiphany as moonglade o'er a lake.
Categories:
saffrons, creation, extended metaphor, imagery,
Form: Sijo
“Let love be your feature”
Mandela
My eternal man
Mandela
My eternal man
The scent of your breath
The scent of freedom
O, Mandela
Your eyes have the color of freedom
O, Mandela
The scent of your breath
The scent of freedom
O, Mandela
My eternal man
Your hand is the flag of freedom
Freedom
Freedom
O, flower, your name is the symbol of freedom
Tulips
Meadow saffrons
Seek your scent
And red poppies ask you:
“Where is the freedom”
The beloved Mandela
Our eternal man
Our eternal man
I’m with you
O, you, flower of freedom
I’m with you
O, flower ….O, Mandela
Mandela
Our eternal man
Mandela
Our eternal man
I’m with you
O, you, flower of freedom
I’m with you
O, flower ….O, Mandela
Our eternal man
Poet: Pezhman Mosleh
Translator: Lida Kavoosi
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AUQY...ature=youtu.be
Categories:
saffrons, love, peace,
Form: Free verse
Remember how long ago it was?
Remember your hometown?
It was very depressing sometimes,
But this was our favorite world.
Now it seems that all this was a dream,
But I was never happier afterwards.
Every street was beautiful and lovely
And no one wanted to hurt anyone there.
I remember my old house on Blue street
Saffrons and an Apple tree bloomed under the window.
I was so attached to that house,
That I missed him every day afterwards.
And I remember our gray house on New street,
Where there was a lot of light and heat.
There my youth was very stormy,
I quickly grew up and went forward.
As an adult, I went far away to study,
I never went back to the old house.
Faces disappear from memory
And I see my youth only as a dream.
Hometown on the back of the country,
I love him with all my heart and soul,
The memory of him is always strong
My town always calls me home.
Categories:
saffrons, childhood, home, poems, poetry,
Form: Free verse
The power of its empire’s influence once shook history from its feet
the number one world olive oil producer;
the home to the world’s largest tomato fight
and sits at the top in organ donation.
A country with a wordless national hymn
housing a cloud-kissing building with no automated climber;
a top seed in the accumulation of city bars
and in the preservation of an ancient language.
Neutrality-its stand point during the global wars
and the first importer of useful vegetables to the continent.
The seat being the only manifestation of its automobile hands
and a member of the global leaders in the production of saffrons.
Shakes hands with France through the pyrenes
diffusing a myth it first accommodated the modern man.
Concerned on the call girls to make them
share uniform-identity with highway workers
and globally popularized by conflicts of two great cities,
both in sports and in everyday life.
Much interest showers the sunflower seeds.
A bar kept clean speaks against itself.
Above all, its dynamic might lies majorly on its
competitive tourism and wide spread language.
Categories:
saffrons, community, earth, environment, nature,
Form: Ode