Dried Flower

I wonder what to do in this worlddried rose
that makes me feel orphaned
even though my father is the lion of society.
Fear is my friend, love a secret I will not whisper.
“The walls have mice and mice have ears.”
The ground will pull me down if I walk outside.
And he will abandon me.
Even oxygen runs away like a horse.

I am like a dried flower
watered with tears every morning,
each drop burning my roots.
My petals are pruned by his cutting words,
cut from their stems and choked,
cinched by a silver feeta around my waist.

Now I am hidden away inside a man’s bedroom,
a dried flower between the pages of a diary.
I long to come out, hold the diary,
connect the words, match the broken puzzles.
I long to silence his roar, make him hear,
open my blossoms and feel the sun on my face.

Scatter my petals to the wind.
Speak words of beauty to a broken world.

By Farahnaz


Comments

  1. This is very moving, Farahnaz, and I so enjoyed reading it.

  2. I have shared your poem with our readers Farahnaz – it deserves to be heard

    https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Australia-Times-Poetry-Magazine/386461994820768

    All the best to you and the other ladies

    Cheers

    Maureen

  3. A very elegant, powerful, deeply moving poem, Farahnaz. The imagery stings, scalds….may your words burn their way into readers’ hearts around the world–and at home. Stacy

  4. Nancy Antle says:

    Farahnaz — This is a beautifully written, powerful poem. Your imagery gives such depth and poignancy to the feelings of the speaker and how she longs for beauty in a broken world. Very moving. Thank you for sharing this. Nancy

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