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Sitting in a hotel room in a remote village …

Posted on July 25, 2011 by milad

Sitting in a hotel room in a remote village

looking at all man does, the massacre, the pillage

I look at you taking on the life, daring the devil

standing on just one foot on the window sill

your pink and white gown as sharp as it goes

against the wind that’s playing with your upturned toes

your hair a wild flower’s raging leaves

mismatched with a sky no one believes

to exist anymore save you the lively you

who are in the roadless world the only avenue

picking your fights with care and giving your care away

standing for who you are without any sway

going about your life and looking down

the poor devil doesn’t know — he is your pawn

*****

Sitting in a hotel room in a far away land

I have the power and the will to once again stand

and I owe it all to you for being you

what an absurd sentence, but it is true

I look at you, against the maroon sky a pinkish taint

you look like mother earth, the holy saint

to whom people would bind the lives of their firstborn

and whom they love and adore and look at with scorn

I see you standing there, and tapping your feet

as if the morning sun’s glory you wish to greet

breathing in gray and giving it back all red

as rich as the blood the warriors shed

in all wars past and in all that are to come yet

even if I don’t know for sure I am willing to bet

*****

Sitting in a hotel room in a remote village

breathing in deep, leaving the cage

with you beside me to take off the weight

and I cannot tell you that you are so great

standing on one foot with the wind in your hair

bearing the colorful morning sun’s glare

and looking down your breath mingled with mine

hanging in a cloud in above the green pine

in the cold morning’s blessed air

in that far away hotel in an unknown square

with the clock ticking away and ringing for seven

it’s morning time and I’m with you, it’s like heaven

*****

Sitting in a hotel room in a land far away

where you pick colors for anything that’s dull gray

I can live on that moment forever and then some more

and keep drinking the hot British tea you pour

our breathes hanging in the air in the cold morning wash

of the willow-scented air as I crush

fresh and newly plucked fruit from the farm so near

and in your presence I forget the fear

that I am aging old and my life is a by-gone

because you are my star, my moon, and my sun

 

24 July 2011

19:24

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I’m a tinkerer and engineer. Here, I write about all sorts of things.

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