The following are excerpts from the book, My Painted Dreams: A Book of Poetry, by Mahvash Mossaed, available on Amazon.com.
Your Poem Followed Me
I was walking home
One very cold winter night
My hands in my pockets
My face frozen hiding behind my shawl and the colure of my coat
I was thinking of you Pablo Neruda
When I noticed one of your poems following me
I recognized it immediately for I new it well
I could read it aloud by heart
I could whistle it, I could smell it
I could chow on it and taste it
Under my teeth and in my mouth
It was a very dark and a very cold winter night
Your poem walked very closely behind me, so close I could feel its warm breath behind my neck
It followed me as far as the steps of my house
And waited until I turned the key and I walked in
When I looked trough the window
I sow your poem
Slipping away in the cold, black
Windy night like a mysteries shadow
The Wind
When I was so child like and innocent
Dancing to the music
That was not there
And flying my kite high
In a sky that never rained
When I had stuck raised petals to my nails
And a pair of twin red cherries
Hanged to my ears and
Wore a crown made of dead twigs
The cold wind was so unkind
To blow away my rose petals
And to brake my crown
And to tack away my kite
And to mess up my hair
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.
Beauty
Beauty is soft and sweet.
She whispers and takes your hand to show you everything that she is.
With her you can only be obedient.
You can only be like water—shapeless.
Like wind—with no form. Obedient to her nature.
She is so poetic, she lets you borrow her mask and her binoculars.
She exchanges her eyes with your voice.
You are astonished to find out that they match perfectly.
Then she hands you a mirror. You scream just to crack God’s silence.
Beauty is soft and sweet. You can only be obedient to her nature.
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.
My Shadow
I am that woman
Who lost her shadow many moons ago?
To find my shadow I started on a long journey
And I left every thing
I looked for my shadow everywhere
I once sow it in the bottom of a clear lack staring at me
I bent down and tried to grab it quickly and hardly
But suddenly it vanished and it disappeared on me
So I continued on, on my journey
One time in a train, in a station
I sow a woman reading a book
There I was in that book in the middle of a story
And there was my shadow standing next to me
I ran towards the woman to grab my shadow
But she closed the book
And walked out of the train in a great hurry
So I continued on, on my long journey
Next I sow a gypsy woman
Dancing with my shadow to a wild music
On the middle of a crowded street
I rushed towards her
And wanted her to give me back my shadow
But she swiftly pushed me away, and ran away from me
Now I don’t run around no more
I just sit and try to sink in
Deeply and silently into my own soul
And may be one day many moons from now
When I am completely clear
I would find and embrace my shadow
Which has been there in the depths of me
All along
Patiently
Waiting
For me
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Tags: Books, Mahvash Mossaed, My Painted Dreams, Poetry
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