The window still remembers our memory
My eyes still have the hope of that glory

Did you forget those afternoons?
When I carried the wood in my hands, I wore my blue burqa

And you were picking apples in your garden
I was carrying a bucket of water from your garden well 

My hair, two pony tails, covered the stand well
and I was full of words, so much to tell

My worried thoughts, I looked from the corner of my burqa
Looking at you, it was as if the winds sang a song

And the night still remembers me, a woman poet
I wrote you I loved you, I covered it with a stone

I put that stone on the road, right in your way
Then, I saw how the cruel rain washed it away

By Pari

Photo by Simon Longworth