The Suspended Season of Your Eyes

A poem by Mahdieh Motevali

Photo by ANIRUDH on Unsplash

You start from the rain,
When you pour down on me
Without an umbrella.
And, I,
Amidst all this tumult,
Know the footsteps of your arrival
So very well.

I am afflicted with you.
Put up with me.
You are all that is left of me!

Sometimes,
I think I have seen you somewhere:
Near the most autumnal feeling of the world,
By the point of desolation!

Sometimes,
The fever from the crisis of your absence bizarrely squeezes the throat of my words.

I know you are not to be repeated,
Even in the midst of my awestruck dreams.
I die and revive,
Until fathoming the rightful truth of the world,
Until the trace of your wet fingers on the wound of my lips,
Until wandering amidst the endmost part of the camisade of your strange eyes.