Does the

 butterfly recollect 

what the caterpillar has lived? As she 

dissolves inside the chrysalis does she 

struggle to cling to a taste of green, the sun’s 

caress? Or is her miracle reckless abandon?

The land is barren, silent, still

A whisper for what it had been

Just silent winds, forgotten, weak

Replace the voice who used to speak

The sky is crimson with our sins

A world where only hate begins

We point, we blame, we turn away

As if we didn’t shape decay

Leaving your home to find the place you belong to. 

You dive into the adventure. Running into new people, new sceneries, new languages. The grey flats around your house brighten in red colored brick houses, tiny green gardens. Tall blonde giants almost hit you with their bikes, because you are still inexperienced and so, so small. You are even scared to bike alone at night at first. You become a newborn in that new country. Learning everything. From how to talk, understand and come… close. 

Spring will come and I will grow smart.

I will feel grass beneath my palm and make it last,

this time around my heart will not come apart.

When I got his text about the possibility of meeting, I was not surprised. I knew I had manifested it through the tears released under the thick duvet that kept me pressed into my mattress for months. Once, it was the two of us under damp sheets. The ache for you, your touch, your voice, the inside of your mouth tasting like dew, like wine, like sin, like you. Over time, that special part of you became my phantom limb, your body, a mist of tiny pin pricks nibbling at my skin. I held on to the thought of you as long as I could.

The tension is palpable, the air buzzing with excitement and doubt, as we’re sitting opposite to each other on a small terrace on the bank of the Vltava. It is late spring, and the sun has not yet set, but it is low enough, so that I have to squint when I look over the river. The water glisters in its warm light and playfully catches and reshapes it into ripples. It took us a while to actually find a place to sit down. I guess the Czechs, or at least the people of Prague, are not big on terraces. The only places we could find, where one could sit outside to eat and drink, were the overpriced and obnoxious cafés around the Orloj clock on the big town square. The kind of place where the seats are filled with Americans and the staff looks at you with disdain.

There must be something wrong with this mirror, I plead,

For my reflection appears changed, tinted. 

What did you do to me?

A heuristic change I feel and see.

The curves look rearranged, shifted.

There must be something wrong with this mirror, I plead.

Well, why not? This little feeder caters

only to the droves of four-inchers who

can sit-and-flit as if the perches were hot

landing pads. So, if this has what she needs,

then improv-ing a hovering hummer’s

an appropriate way to hope. True, her

if i lose my memory one day

show me the books i love and let me

let me love them all over again

let me lie in my mother’s arms

and feel like a kid and be forgiven,

let me once more get to know my friends

She’s more of a quiet bubbling stream, inviting and serene. Open to any who need a quick break or drink of cool water on their journey. If a traveler chooses to stay for a bit longer, to enjoy the peace and her songs, they will be wrapped in warm breezes and serenading lullabies. But the stream is humble and can’t supply a house, were the traveler to choose to build one on her banks.

Burn your insights,

Dim the city’s lights,

Where puddles reflect my frights.

Where the crowd dismisses the stagnant water.

A pitch consumes me.

Death is a tireless worker,

filling his daily quota.

He never pauses to rest

or stop, like an uneasy student

trying to pass a mathematics test.

She was flat on her back, staring at the vast expanse of blue above her. As she bobbed up and down on the waves, she ran her hands through the jade water beneath her. It was calm and beautiful, and a feeling of tranquility settled over her. A smile spread across her face as she slowly turned her head and gazed at the mighty Alborz.

…in the form of another year,

which you yearn for and fear

at the same time. This time

rises on a high tide 

of dreams before they fade

by an abandoned arcade