New Iranian Proverbs

person holding a burning news paper close up photography

Photo by Connor Danylenko on

The first oil was a baby in birth scarlets
Taking a mother’s breath away is no theft
That shall come later in the thieving winter
A house of five generations will grey tongues of unmapped towns.

The second oil was two black circles as her breasts wept into linen
No one will fight for this oil but Mothers.
The fathers curse useless hands and yell
Each moon without babe’s stone them pale.

Breathe, let us change the form of this poem like forcibly changed lives
let us allow the human to address itself in us,
a firefly does not burn it is a trick of nature
a human does not drown in liquid Androids.

The last oil was not yet crude, was made up of fish souls and shells
I can hear a baby whisper in its blackness
I can see a billion fireflies emerge like stars
Hiroshima zombies with skin hanging from fingernails.

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