Leila Taghavi

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Violet, creeping jasmines
With green, rising fingers,
Tuning the yellow violin,
Sitting on the blue heaven
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Inside a long glass,
Updside down,
The ant moves silently
Up and down
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When I see your sea
And finger the rest of sand,
I feel you in my land
Your salinity
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On a silk rug
A group of ants
Scurrying arround each other
Found a seed
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Either the poet is vain or the poems awkward
Nobody reads them willingly
May laughing at a poem be sweeter than bitter silence
Enjoying writing and reading by herself,
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I am writing to you, flowing time,
Cross the night sooner than the sunset
And the noon ahead of dawn
You run before my eyes to see nothing
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The tablecloth on the ground
Gathered a big family together
Loaves of bread and bowls of broth
In front of the children
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