For That I’m Writing Poetry

 

Early in the morning,
when the wind blows from the west,
I go walking to Forest Hills
The wind is so kind, so generous,
caresses my face, plays with my hair
and at the same time
in the opposite direction
Mr. Steven paces fast to the east
waves his hand, good morning ma’am
and the sun is so kind, so generous
shines on his chin

Late at night
when I step out of the subway
the wind-chill whips my cheeks
savagely unfurls my scarf, pricks my neck
unfairly throws up my hat, pushes me back
and I don’t fear, I don’t resist
submitting my mind, my body
to the wind, to the chill, to the waves
and at the same time
in the opposite direction
Mr. Steven, retreated to his hoodie,
sighs, growls, blames on cold
and leaves us alone

He blinds the shutter, takes the vases inside
and runs his business, depends on the wind and sun
while I’m writing poetry
regardless of the season, direction and time

Soodabeh Saeidnia 2016

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s