Your Desk
You submit me
Your dreams- your nightmares
And don’t care
How heavy are – your hands
Saturated with words – dark, bitter, vague.
My veins – empty of chlorophylls
And spring a remote dream
Evaporated from my flesh.
But…
Sometimes
When you open the window
Among the roar of thousands monsters
Crashing my nerves
A breeze peers into the room
Caressing my skin
The breeze mixing with your words
Reviving the greenness of a flourishing forest
In my dusty memories
And I feel your words
Tasting of a your memories
Lost in a remote corner of the world.
1997
Mehri Yalfani: Novelist, Poet, Short Story Writer 