AUTUMN WITH YOU

Let us begin the autumn together,

I know the clouds,
I have known them since
the beginning of life,
my life and yours.
Together,
you, me, and the clouds.
We should collect the rain together,
but the clouds,
don’t cry together.
Only us.
I built the house on wind,
rain,
fog and sky.
The blue of the sky
is gone with the wind.
And the clouds have no rain.
So only fog has remained
my faithful friend.
I cover myself with the fog,
there is still room for you.
We can live, together,
under the dampness of the fog.

behrouz

COUNTING THE DAYS

First,
second,
third…….
and the last.
I cried for the silence of water.
Tired,
waited for the rain,
waited to witness the cloud,
the thunder,
and the rain.
Death has forgotten me,
so has the executioner.
I looked for the days,
and I found the sunset.
I searched for bread,
and I found the grass.
I searched for home,
and I found the tent.
I raised my hand to the sky,
and touched the cloud.
I was presented with the first drop of rain.
I made a coffin out of tears,
but the death,
just passed me
and didn’t look back.
I am still counting the numbers:
first,
second,
third,
and thus goes on.

behrouz

AND SO ON……….

Leaves,
falling,
dancing,
drawing their red and yellow line.
Air is full of color.
Trees hungry for rain,
I am hungry for a song,
flower hungry for a hand.
The tree gets the sun,
I get the rain,
and the flower gets the wind.
There is shadow on the wall,
it has the smell of the grass.
There is a voice in the air,
it has the sound of the flight.

I have forgotten the sea.

It is raining,
and I have lost the way
home.

behrouz

RAIN, RAIN, AND NOT MUCH MORE

I have a flower in my mouth,

and a glass of water in my hand.
Words are hanging from me,
I can not hold on to them.
There is light in the street,
but I can not see the trees.
Distressed,
I am left alone in the rain.
It is disturbing
to concentrate on words
in the rain.

It is late,
it is wet,
I put the words back in the dictionary.
And,
I try to bury my poetry,
but no one has come for the burial.
So,
I just walk back into the rain.

behrouz

FEW DAYS OF MY LIFE

Days,
may be years,
passed.
Envying the days of the red leaves.
The sun is setting,
I am in the crowd of
grass,
flowers,
and weeds.
It is not a dream,
I saw the flower growing
on your dress.
They carry the dress,
all over the town,
with music and chanting.
Flower is growing on every dress.

But those,
those men,
they are burying the dress.
The flower
is now black.
Musicians are tired,
the instruments broken,
weeds growing on them.
Every one is just waiting
under the rain.

behrouz

GREEN NIGHT

It was a green night

in the garden.
There was,
music,
your voice
in the air.
I smelled a green grass,
and died.
When came back,
There was your shadow,
your smell,
and still your voice.
The musicians were all gone
by the wind.
But your voice,
your smell,
was in the air.
Flowers were painting the air red.

behrouz.

LOST IN THE MIST

I have lost my way,

home,
to you,
and to my dream.
I have lost my way
in the mist.

I have lost my way

to north,
south,
sea
and the forest.
I have lost my way
to the rain.

Even the light on the Minara

can not show me the way.
And the few lights
of that far away village.

A light in hand,
but the oil has long been burnt.
A question mark,
of
where am I.
I think,
I have also lost my name.

I have lost my dream,

and the smell of
rain,
forest,
rain in the forest.

And grass,
fields,
and grass in the fields.
I have lost the seasons.

Where can I find a cup of tea,

or a glass of water.
But,
I have lost the thirst,
and the hunger.
There is always a distance,
between thirst
and water.
There is always a wall,
between hunger,
and bread.

Only you,
show me the light,
rise as the brightest star,
so I can find
my way home.
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN TWO DREAMS

There is time
before the journey ends.
There is time
before stepping back on the road.
A cup of tea,
may be,
or just a moment of rest
in the shade.
Rest the body,
but the mind keeps flying.
It is hard some times
to miss even the simple things
of the past.
The air stands still in silence,
so is the tree,
and the shadow.
The mind and the dream
fly through the past,
slowly.

A cup of tea
in the corner of the room;
the flowers of the carpet,
and the woods on the roof.
There is only a faded image
in black and white,
moving across the room,
with grace and slow.

There is a smell in the air,

of onion and rice.
There is a sound in the air,
wood burning and pots.
I can stay here for a while,
I can live moments of silence
in this dusty shade.
The road ahead
is long and hot.

A bird flies
and sits on the tree.
The thought flies
back to that hot and dusty street.
The door opens
and the white shadow comes out.
A line of grace
follows the white line of walk.
And the smell
I have known for so long.

A piece of white cloud

and the sun disappears;
a wave of wind
and the silence in air brakes.
I don’t remember this old tree,
I have never been on this road.

Memory flies back,

to that little window.
The apple tree
red and yellow apples.
Pieces of dream
is being put together,
I think,
I should go back
on the road I have just left behind.
The faded lines of the white image
is taking shape.
Dream is turning to memory.
WITH YOU TILL THE END

I am afraid,
I am restless,
but I shall be with you
till the end,
the end of life,
the end of the world,
till eternity.

We shall talk,
talk of the simple life.
Talk of your dream
and mine.
I talk of the grass
growing in my thought.
You talk of the dews,
sitting on your dream.

You dreamed of rain,

but it is the day of storm.
So I followed the voice calling,
carried by the wind.
All on the road,
there was a dream of grass.

Will you come with me ?

We can talk of the birds,
and look at the white line
of the flight.
We share our dreams
and the thoughts.
We see the same mountains
and the snow.
Get wet under the same rain,
and dry under the same sun.
I am tired,
would you come with me
to my dream.

Come with me,

to the town of songs.
We share the sight
of the same grass.
We share the color
of the same flowers.
We talk to the butterflies,
we run after the wind.
We catch the leaves
falling from the trees.
Come with me
to the land of my dream.

When we reach
the summit,
the mountain shall be our home.
We talk to the birds
returning to their nests.
We listen to their stories,
of flight and fear.
And we tell our stories
of dream and love.

The sun is setting,

I have fear,
and restlessness.
Come with me,
to the end of my dream.
IT IS ONLY THE WIND

At last,
at last you believed,
and the rest of the simple people
in this simple street believe,
it was the wind
which stole our dream.

So why should we cry.

There shall be another season,
another spring,
and we might,
just might meet again.

There is not much to tell you.

It was only yesterday,
down the street
women with their colorful headwear,
danced with the rhythm of drum,
and the cry of pipe.

The road is long,

and home so far away.
On the two side of the road,
under the maple trees,
there shall again grow,
the wild violets.

Town,
my town,
your town,
is in total silence.
But I can always,
invite you for a cup of tea.
RESURRECTION

All my being
has become a prayer
that repents the holly verses.
I have dug my own grave
long before history
wrote its first line.

I carried my own cross

to the height of the highest mountain,
and,
I kissed the nails
that nailed me to my eternity.

The winds
send my prayer to where
the waves are born.
You will be there
when I shall resurrect
from the wet of the soil.

In the dark of the forest,

I re-incarnate myself
to an owl.
So,
there shall be no morning for me.

You will open the window;

when the song of night
is brought to you by the wind.
Behind the window,
I shall be you reflection.
I shall smile your happiness,
I shall cry your sorrows,
I shall bleed you pain.
In the dark of the forest,
I shall resurrect,
and re-incarnate as you.

Shadows, winter and I

I have forgotten the past,

only
remember the winter.
In the winter
the shadows of the cold days
runs from end of the street
to the other end.
Our shadows frozen
on the frozen dry leaves.
We called the summer,
but
the spring was also far away.
It was only because of cold
and the sorrows.
Flowers frozen
on the big river.
The waves also.
Roses colorless,
and our naked and cold bodies
traveled the sky for the sun.
I could not find the black
of the night.
Your were carrying the night
in your eyes.
I needed the summer,
when your memory
blossoms on every grass.

Fortune

It was my fortune,
that sea,
in the neighborhood of the mirrors,
was lost in the morning.
Sea keeps silence
in your silent leaps.
I am not as young as those days
when the rain used to wash
the leaves of the maple trees.
You remember,
those old maple trees in the garden,
the garden of the house
we used to dream about.
We used to hear
the sound of music
from the night sky.

I was alone in the room.

only your dream accompanied me.

FROZEN ROSE
Sunset,
few drops of rain.
The cold of the winter,
cracks the skin of trees.
Garden is wounded.
Ice, breaks on the mud,
the last of the rose,
frozen hard.
No smell,
no color,
no life.
The last rose
falls on the ice.
Life is dead, and only dead lives.
The doors are closed,
till the arrival of the first swallow.
The leaves have traveled with the wind.
There will not be any green dream till then.

DO WE REMEMBER ? !!!!!!

Remember,
the time of purity and unity.
Remember,
when man was not a reflection,
and the mirror was not
the reversal of the truth.
And the lovers
did not hold hand
to exchange cold,
but followed the river
to the root,
where the grass was still green.

Remember,
the time
when sunshine was falling on us,
as the purest
of all the rivers.

And remember,
when we sang,
not a murmur,
but loud and clear.
The song which mountain
shed tears.
And the tulips of the wild
were the earrings
of ruby and diamonds.
And the blue of the sky,
the thin garment on your skin.

The moon and the sun,

you remember,
were sitting on you shoulders,
and when you smiled
happiness flew
and became the stars
of the dark nights.

Remember,
when we counted the days
and never reached the end.
Happiness was not
just a word.

When we breathed the rain,

and your body, misty,
danced in the fog.
You remember,
when my hands
were searching the night
for the smell of your skin.

You should remember,

when our song
followed the white line
of the flight.
And the birds
carried it
to the line of sunset.

It was then,
when the dream flew in,
and sat next to our thought.
And we did not know,
when the dream was reality.
When the reflection
in the mirror,
was us,
and our dream.

Do you remember,
when the last time
we looked out of the window.
When the fog
took our dream away.
And,
you never looked back.

My hand
are still looking in the fog
for the smell
of your skin.
PROPHESY

In my hand,
a tree is growing,
tree of prophesy,
something in a dream.

And in this rain

which is a banquet
for the grass,
the field turns into the morning
of laughter.

In my dream,
no bird flies.
And the summer,
as dry as the autumn grass.

But,
why should I dream
of dead and fire,
while the field
is alive and green.

The harsh history of life,

keeps my eyes closed.
I can no more live
a green life.
Only burned grass.

From my hand
a tree of prophesy is growing.
A child cries.
Life just began.

RIAN IN YOUR HANDS

It is raining
the other side of the river.
I could tell you
the last words.
Fog is covering
the field,
when I walk to the river.
Roses have forgotten the moonlight.
My cold hands
are searching for you.
Birds have migrated
from my house.
I am afraid,
I have forgotten the sun.
I shall bring you cold water
from the river;
I shall wash your eyes
with the water
from the river.
I know,
the moonlight shall return
to my roof.
I hear the sea.
River shall take me to you.
DARK DREAM

The old sky,

which talked to me,
some times blue,
mostly black,
and once in a while white,
flew in through the broken frame
of my window,
and sat in front of me,
gazing, wondering.
The old sky
brought a piece of cloud;
then, I opened a bottle of wine.
Bread, wine and a piece of cloud.
Cloud began crying,
bread dried,
and the wine turned sour
when the news came
the first leaf has fallen.
This year, there will be
any apples on the trees.

bk
GRACE

If earth had eyes,

she would have bowed to your grace.
And your highness,
would not left unknown.
Whiter than white,
standing on the light of the morning,
spreading the sunlight.
With so much spirituality,
it is too early,
that your name be known on earth.

Earth has only one summer,

and the green of the field
is because of that wide river
giving blessing to land.
The river, which begins in your eyes,
and the earth
drinks from.
Soil has no grass without you,
and the mountains no clouds.
I measure you with what I know,
but you are hidden.
And, if I knew what is behind the sky,
I would have found you.

You are the unfinished spring,

that earth never experienced again.
The green of the field,
is all that is left from you.
You were too large for the earth.

Night and days,

are the movements of your eyes.
The sun is not sure
when to rise.
Morning is the reflection of your smile,
which I can only feel,
at the moment of death.
You are that great spirit,
that can bring love and sward
in the same bed.
The earth can not know
what you are.

behrouz
Avsa

May be days,
months,
or even years,
I am sitting on the shore
waiting for the waves
to bring the moonlight.

I doubt the moon would ever greet me.

I doubt the waves would know
where the moonlight is.

In exile,
the wind never blows.
The waves,
heavy and slow,
only bring the dark memory
of the deep.

The gulls,
singing the old song,
collecting the words
I have long thrown
out of the window.

Two boats,
tied together,
the men in dream.
The fish have migrated
to the other side of sunlight.
Darkness shall last.
The men are waiting in vain.

The gulls are collecting my words,

putting them together
like a chain of beads.
But it can not be a song
and hardly a poem.

The gulls
are singing the old song.
There is no choice.

Dawn,
flies over the field
of lilies.
In the silence of the grass
life plays a game
with the poppies.

Sitting with the memories of grass,

flowers teach me
the virtue of silence.
Wondering,
how do the flowers
talk to each other.

Behind the wall,

there is the smell of jasmine.
The birds wash their wings
in the smell.
Lilies dream of moonlight.
I dream of the day
that was not there.

RENDESVOUS WITH A ROSE

It may a day,
or,
may be days,
by the sunrise,
I wait.
I have a rendezvous
with a rose.
It shall blossom,
with hundreds of petals,
and lips for kisses.
And,
pleasure for the senses.

I have my roots,
in the wet soil,
and hands rising with the sun.
Feet in the soil,
and hands with the stsrs.

Hundreds of petals,
flying to me,
showering me.
Stars falling,
shower of light.

The first bird,

white little bird
which flew in, stole my heart.
It was yours,
Tell her to give it back to you.
I have a rendezvous with a rose.

WIND AND THE GARDEN

Wind
is passing by the garden.
We were filling the glasses
with the smell of the spring.
I think
we were the guests
of the birds.
Trees were waiting
for the summer,
and the birds
for the time to migrate.
Night brought the rain,
and we filled the glasses
with the memory of the sea.
Only the apples
are laughing loud,
spreading their red and yellow.
They invited us
to their smell.

WHISTLING

Trees,
are whistling the winter song,
a tone for you.
You are running
to meet the wind.
You wash your hair
in the wind.
Garden shall take your smell
when spring returns.
The leaves shall have
the color of your skin,
when the birds return.
You came with the night,
lips closed,
eyes open.
We talked about the morning.
Outside,
there is ice in the air.
Dry branches
are whistling your tone.

b.k.

WINDOW AND THE SUNSHINE

Window,
just open enough
for the flower pot,
to get a glimpse of the sun.
And the girls,
just a short dream,
to the neighbors garden,
for a glance
at the boy counting the days.

Summer is not far away,

flowers already dancing.
Birds,
replying to the song
the girl singing,
wishing it will climb the wall.

Far away,
in the valley,
another dream
turns into song.
And the hands
clap the rhythm of the heart.
The river murmurs,
dancing between the trees,
selling its charm
to the rocks.

There are two hearts,

carved on a tree,
a history, a story,
a legend,
or tragedy.
two naked feet
in the water,
feeling the cool
of the last snow melting.

Two eyes,
watching,
song blend with tears.

TO REMEMBER THAT VOICE

That morning
when I closed the door behind her,
and that night,
when I spent with only a dream,
I left the house
to look for the nothingness
in those narrow street of life.
And,
in the narrow of the streets,
I lived with the grace
of her voice.
That voice, several times,
carried me on her silver wing,
from the low of the grass,
to the high of Venus.
How can I live with my thought,
when they fight,
with the pure love of yours ?

……..

When love left,

disappeared on the corner of the street,
the echo of her voice
stayed with my thought.
I may be just a thought,
it may be just a dream,
but when I wear my shoes
to go after a dream,
suddenly your face appears.
behrouz

MORNING, reflection of your smile.

If earth,
stands against the universe,
shall not hold
the totality of your grace.
And your look,
spreading to the border of
light and darkness.
And, your eyes,
a temple where the clouds
pray their rain.
Even the angles know,
half of you is still undiscovered.
My hands are traveling
into the space
which is the thought of you.

You are standing

on the black of the darkest night,
sitting on the thunder
which travels before the rain.
Only a song can only
tell the reality which is you.

Earth without you,

just a dry land on the face of universe.
The green of the forest,
follows you,
and the smell of the wet earth
is sitting on your skin.
Only nature,
can be a place for you.

behrouz
avsa

Some Small Thoughts

When you left,

you planted a little pine tree,
next to my heart.
Now you are gone,
 the pine tree
is as tall as the sky.

+++++

Once,
I used to write your name
with my finger.
Now,
you are gone,
and the finger can not reach you.
I write your name on my heart.

+++++

My pain was not of life,

passing by.
It was of the sea between us.
I lost your smell.
And this side of the sea,
sitting in silence,
that may bring your thought.

behrouz

ADMIRATION

Branches in the rain

are in praise for you.
Leaves bowing
with prayer,
adoration of you.
Sing the song,
sing.
When you are running
from one drop of rain
to the other.
Flowers close their petals
when you pass,
sing the chores to your song.
You take your cloths out
giving you body to the rain.
Feeling the freedom,
the nature touches you.
That night,
you came back to me,
with the memory of the rain,
the leaves,
and the branches.
We talked of night,
sand,
and the river.

Admiration 2

At the last line of my poem,

I reached you.
You are the beginning of the word,
and the end of music.
You are the beginning of movement.

When I passed the first river,

the first bridge;
when I came out of the temple
and the monastery;
when I passed all the mountains
and the valleys;
I stood in front of the rose,
the only rose
by that stream of pure water.
The water found you.

I called your name,

and the mountain answered
\my name.

At the end of you,

I found my beginning.
I stood by the water,
I cried your name,
and dedicated my first song
to you.

behrouz

OXYGEN

In this mess that used to be my home,

I try to push myself around.
Where there is more dust than oxygen.
I am hooked, like a nail to the ground.

There is only one music in the air,

that is the loud humming of the machine,
which is sanding the floor with precision,
but does not think, that I am also in.

I am trying to put few words together,

to send you a happy mail through the line.
But the lines are so mixed together,
no one can find a way, like this brain of mine.

So I just go to the window to take a breath,

as I need some oxygen, and some fresh air.
There is you standing. on that little cloud,
Now I know, you are my both oxygen, and the fresh air.

behrouz

IT IS ONLY A DAY…….

I can begin the day,

by getting a basket of fruits.
Market is empty,
only the rain, only water running,
where fruits were once lived.
The house has no door,
I have sold it
for few minutes of your memory.
You can enter,
you can bring your sorrows.
And,
we can cry together.
I have the winter locked in the house,
with a withered flower.
No red, no blue, and no green.
I had invited the blue sky,
the red cloud
and the green forest.
Snow has closed the road.
So only
the white of the cold is sitting at my table.
Plates empty,
glasses empty,
and I live with the hunger,
and your memory.

DREAM

Can it be possible,
can it be seen ?
The one you think of
but do not see’
take your hand for a flight.
Through the fog, wind and rain,
flight takes you to the mountain top.
There, back to the sun,
clouds under your feet,
you talk of flight,
far away lands,
and a single bird
which brings the message
with a song.
Your eyes,
follow the white line of the flight.
You sleep some more,
and dream some more.
The one who is always in your thought,
takes your hand
and you wake up.
The white line of the flight,
passes through the window,
and is lost in the fog.
behrouz

+++++++++++++

FOUR WALLS AND ONLY A WINDOW

Four walls,
and only a window
with broken glasses.
I can sleep,
even the thought is in prison.
The clock has stopped ticking
long time ago.
The mirror on the wall
has no reflection.
I see my reflection
on the gray wall.
There is a little sky
in the frame of the window.
And a song
of the bird which flies
from tree to tree.
No moon,
no sun,
only a foggy dim light
the window is letting me to have.
I envy the bird,
I dream of the flight.

behrouz

+++++++++++

ONE WAY TRAVEL TO NOWHERE

Train,
slowly moves
from right to left.
Smoke passes by the window.
There, opposite me,
is sitting…..
yes, it is me.
May be just my reflection.
Train passes by the old cemetery.
There,
I am standing by the grave.
It can not be a reflection.
He, me,
I have a book in my hand.

I am sitting in the train,

traveling to nowhere.
And there,
opposite me,
is me sitting.
He, me,
is reading
the book of Geneses.
They say the man
can loose the heaven.

There, in the cemetery,

he, me,
has already lost the heaven.
I have the flight instead.

behrouz
PROMISE
On the other side of your body
love brings down
the curtain.
You have promised me
all the flights butterflies
and the red of all the roses.
And the smell of the oldest wine.
You have promised me the light.
Two white lines draw
from moonlight to you,
and from you to me.
Two birds promise
the flight shall last
the two length of life.
The rainbow ends
where your steps show the way.

On the other side of my body,

love has the nest,
where the little white birds
shall draw the white lines
on the limitless sky.
On the line of the sky and the sea,
your love builds the nest.

On the horizon,
the blue horizon,
the meaning of bodies are lost.
You have promised me
the fire of love
in the coldest nights.
Blue color of your love,
is the ointment for the burn
of the fire of your love.

Words have lost their necessities,

where I frame the thought of you.
In this desert of lust
your tenderness
is the drops of rain
to kill the thirst of that little wild flower.
The vultures are waiting
for the death of my soul.
You promised,
the color of the last flower
to heat the cold of the winter,
where love and ice live together.
On the other side of our bodies,
you promised me
the color of love. behruz

THE BELL OF THOUTH

Tonight, the dream without my thought,

has gone to far,
to where,
I shall not know.
My eyes,
fixes on the door,
where could have it gone.
It is passed the midnight,
I wonder,
where has it gone.
By dawn,
I it was back,
and I asked where it had gone.
There was a smile,
but no answer.
I asked,
would not reveal a secret,
but it had your smell,
I looked at it,
it had your reflection.

behrouz