We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. Plato (427-347)
The watchful gods,
The revengeful gods,
You and me
And the interminable suffering.
The tulips,
Kathy’s tulips.
****
Iranian music fills the room,
The Santur stands out
Supreme and majestically.
It brings out
With its sad notes
The beauty
Of the tulips,
Kathy’s tulips.
****
The music builds
To a crescendo,
The watchful gods
Frown and shudder,
The Santur creaks
Of dismay and pain
And bleeds, and bleeds
On the tulips,
Kathy’s tulips.
****
The tulips,
These coy demoiselles
Sway and dance
Their faces are red
Not blood red.
Voices from far away,
Eastern voices,
They say,
Break loose out of
The loudspeakers
And walk in beauty
In all sensitive souls.
They speak of death and agony,
Of treachery and dispossession
To the tulips,
Kathy’s tulips.
****
The revengeful gods
Uncover their fangs,
They want blood
And more blood,
Their thirst is difficult
To quench.
They want blood,
But there is none left.
They look at the tulips
In despair,
The want the tulips,
Kathy’s tulips.
****
But the very voices
That poured
Out of the loudspeakers
Melodious verse
Broke loose and
Chased the revengeful gods
And saved the tulips,
Kathy’s tulips.
Photo by Kaoutar Rouas
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