Nastaliq*
My Bakhtash, to write these words for you
I should have the finest qalam pen
made from a strong and supple reed
gathered in the south, from the reedbeds on the Gulf of
our Persia
-
with that, I could make the letters sing and
dance
I have only my trembling finger and the handle of this
comb
and the ink is not the finest blend of the masters, it is
red, raw red
so much of it
the poet will run out before the ink does
In place of costly silk paper
I have the hard tiles of this hammam
they are warm and growing slick
my brother ordered the room heated
before he had them slice me open
and brick me in
Ah, what is blood in a bathroom ? Only the story of all
women!
So much blood we see, month and month, year and year
blood and endurance are our burdens,
god gives them to us as gifts
we take joy in them for his sake
we offer the work of our bodies to his glory
A man would think himself a champion of battle
to look upon so much blood in a life
as the slightest village girl sees in one year
(such rivers of it, too, in the bringing of a child
- ah Bakhtash, if we had made a child ! )
Enough. I must write some ghazals for you
I will think of your voice, try to hear it
over this roaring in my ears
-
If he has not killed you already
if you escape, if you find these poems,
copy them, make a safina^,
wear it in a pouch around your neck always
hanging down, just over
your blood-filled heart
© Melinda Smith 2016
*Persian calligraphy
^oblong bound book of poems
Oh, Melinda, thank you. You See the blood in me that came from Rabi a. Oh thank you to you both, great blood flooded souls, for making a boat for me of your words. All love and heart always, Anne
ReplyDeleteStunning.
ReplyDeleteThank you Anne and Michele !
ReplyDeleteyes, stunning, Melinda!
ReplyDeleteThe blood. It is deeply moving, Melinda.
ReplyDelete