A Woman Defined

Art & Culture by Mahvash Mossaed

E-Book Available on iTunes – Blue by Mahvash Mossaed

July 11, 2015

blue book coverDownload the book, “Blue” by Mahvash Mossaed, on iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/blue/id980124424?mt=11

 

Here’s a preview:

searching

I’ll tell you the secret,
Why I’m so desperately lost and cannot be found.
I was born in a sunny day in a small garden
From the seed of a flower.
The garden had no walls—
I had no anger and no barriers.
But I was restless and unsure,
So I borrowed a body and I borrowed a soul
And walked out of the garden to look for my true nature.
That’s how I came to be lost,
For now I am neither man nor flower
without a body

There was neither love nor hate.
There was only emptiness and silence,
And we could taste the emptiness in the silence.
We could see the seed grow inside a seed.
We could see the soul of a drop of water.
We could hear the sense of touch in a breeze.
We could hear the sense of smell in the flowers.
We could float from birth to death.
Yet, we were all without a body.
We were all without a mouth,
Without eyes, without voice.

We were only ghosts in heaven.

And the mountains were our bones,
The wind was our breath,
The rivers were our tears.

We were without death.
We were a perfect and complete universe
Within a universe.
We were ghosts in heaven.

 

the wind

When I was so childlike and innocent,
Dancing to music that was not there
And flying my kite high
In a sky that never rained.

When I had stuck rose petals to my nails
And a pair of twin red cherries hung in my ears,
And I wore a crown made of dead twigs

The cold wind was so unkind
To blow away my rose petals,
And to break my crown,
And to take away my kite,
And to mess up my hair.

 

love

Where is love? Where you left it.
Without someone it’s powerless, it’s meaningless,
It’s shapeless, it’s nameless, it’s empty, it’s lost.
With no existence.

And when it’s found by someone
It finds a name, a shape, a life,
And becomes powerful.
And makes up its mind to make you or break you.

 

literarily love

I found him one day in the pages of a book.
He was literary, and heavy with commas, full stops and question marks.
So I stood quietly in the shadow of his mind
For he could well be the god I had lost or the love I could not find.

Holding hands we went to shop in the crowded bazaar of life.
But somehow he let go of my hand.
He was lost,
And I was nowhere to be found

That’s how I ended up in this old gloomy library of time,
Reading every book I can find,
So I may find him hiding behind a meaningful sentence,
Heavy with full stops, commas, and question marks.

 

the prayer

Chocolate secrets
Minty Whispers

I come into the room with good news.
Suddenly, the empty is full.
Suddenly, the full is secure.
And Forever sits on the sofa next to me.
Forever knows every line in my face,
Yet it allows life to run, to hurry, and to escape.
In despair I am licking life like it’s ice cream.
In despair I taste life in my mouth like it’s mint.
While I whisper into your ears my dreams,
Words with hidden meanings,
Just to believe I am eternal, and I will remain
When my sprit has left the house of my body,
And I know it will not return.

Chocolate secrets
Minty whispers

 

old, very old

When I am old, very old,
My body will be like a torn old cover—
Thin, so thin that you can read my soul
Through its shredded pieces.

 

the house of mirrors

You live in a house full of mirrors.
You look at the blue pupil of your eyes
In the mirrors of one room—
Then you look at the blue veins frozen deep in your heart
In the mirrors of the next room.

You hide the real you in a dark closet of a large empty room
With sliding mirrored doors.

Upon you’re leaving forever
You do not want to take anything with you.

I ask you, maybe a china cup?
I ask you, maybe our breath trapped in an unfinished sigh?
I ask you, maybe our sorrows trapped in a slow yawn?
But all you want to take with you is a hand mirror.

As you are parting, I whisper after you in despair,
“Oh… my love… please be careful!”

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Posted in Book Reviews, Mahvash Mossaed, Poetry, Reviews |

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