It’s the ruin, the one who ruins, and the act of ruining.
Its geography is cruelty.
(Mohsin Emadi; Translated by Lyn Coffin)
Fear had been familiar to him
Like a parent close in placements
Mountains and Rivers and Death and God
Moments of impermanence
On a white board outspread like a colonialist
Was written the tale of fear
Of memories, of existence – of a nail paint.
I was there in the crowd
The stage defined by blood and dreams
No, you cannot see it
It is the tangible memory of invalidation
No, you cannot see it.
He saw the words of his mother
Performed on water
They come, they go, they stay –
You leave.
History was talking to skies
He could not hear.
The glass broke
So did memory
His hands carrying the germs of atrocity
Let’s go to the land of hope
Of impossibility and desire.
Still collecting the broken glass pieces,
Memory intervenes.
The disgust
No, you cannot see it.