Cadence chooses me, it chokes on me
I am the violin's regurgitant flow, and not its player
I am in the presence of memory
The echo of things pronounces through me
then I pronounce…
Whenever I listen to the stone I hear
the cooing of a white pigeon
gasp in me:
My brother! I am your little sister,
so I cry in her name the tears of speech
And whenever I see the zanzalakht trunk
on the way to the clouds,
I hear a mother's heart
palpitate in me:
I am a divorced woman,
so I curse in her name the cicada darkness
And whenever I see a woman on a moon
I see love a devil
glaring at me:
I am still here
but you won't return as you were when I left you
you won't return, and I won't return
Then cadence completes its cycle
and chokes on me…