by Fereshteh Sholevar

Last night, I dreamed about my doll

in her velvet dress, high heels, and sad eyes.

She was dead and I wept in my dream.

My doll and I looked the same for an instant.

I watched them burying her under a faded dandelion.

I didn’t believe in the light side of darkness.

“O Let Me Weep,” I whispered. *


The sun quivered, the rain froze, 

fear crept in,

voices of the oppressed ones rose 

and awoke a sleeping sky.

Tyrants darkened innocents’ blood, 

poisoned nature, and laughed at one’s misery.

Those ascending the haunting heights slipped

and were swallowed by dirt.

My father and mother came to console me,

they distressed me, instead.

They looked ill and shrunk slowly

under the leaves of a Hollyhock.

Through my weeping eyes, I saw deer

in gray forests with guarded eyes, wandering behind

the breaking trees, unaware of the ones pointing arrows

at their bursting hearts.

Then marched men with new ideas, singing:

“Each tree its silence breaks.” 

Let’s redeem the green.

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