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Poems
Volume 2 | Issue 4 | May 2008 | 







 
To Tell the Truth
Farideh Hasanzadeh

 

A note on this poem:
I appreciate Kimberly L. Becker who kindly edited my poem and encouraged me to publish it by her very special words:
" This poem has an effortless flow. It is sad and wistful, although somehow still hopeful. And of course you do what you say you cannot: you do remember love brilliantly." - Farideh

So strange!
I don’t remember love anymore.
In the streets
My eyes gaze unwillingly
At young couples:
Why are they holding hands?
Are they afraid of getting lost like babies?
Or falling down like old people ?
Behind the iron bars of the parks
With no likeness to zoo animals
Lovers are sitting on wooden benches
So rapt in looking at each other
As if they are continuation of nature.
They only see the breeze caressing the leaves
As crazy as their dreams
They look at each other for long centuries
But they never discover nostrils in their faces
Or big stains of sweat on the armpits
Sometimes if they turn their faces away from each other
It is just for looking at nothing
For marking the boundaries of themselves and others
When they smoke they bring down the clouds

And when they walk they laugh at the force of gravity.
They seem invulnerable.
The silences between their words are too ripened to be shattered
Even in the rain of bombs
Only red apples fall from their branches,
Sweet-smelling and delicious, ready for biting

I envy them as much as I envy my own hands
For, as much as I deny love,
My hands turn against me;
Every morning they set breakfast at the table for my husband
With the same terrible care of women who are in love.
Beneath the light they examine the cleanliness of the washed-up cup
And smooth away again and again the white tablecloth on which
A vase of flowers is showing off.
Worse than my hands are my feet
Accompanying my husband to the door every morning
In spite of his indifferent look.
And stranger than my hands and feet is my careful gaze
That stays behind the window in the emptiness
Long minutes after his departure
Hoping he may turn his head
So that I can see his eyes
Unable to remember love anymore
So strange!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 
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