A Woman Defined

Art & Culture by Mahvash Mossaed
Blue by Mahvash Mossaed

E-Book Available on iTunes – “Blue” by Mahvash Mossaed

December 21, 2022

Blue by Mahvash Mossaed

Download the book, Blue, by Mahvash Mossaed, on iTunes.

I brought a stranger home,  a stranger who never left me.

I gave him a toboggan, quite small,

A sweater, cherry red,

And a jar filled with honey.

He gave me a son,

A miniature garden,

And a make-believe pony.

I painted the man, the boy, and myself over and over again,

Just so that I could believe in the reality of  make-believe.

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.


Time falls without a parachute— It’s shattered in pieces and it passes

After it surrenders itself to the absolute emptiness.

While watching an iceberg hitting,

A little star drowned in the bottom of my cup of coffee.

While watching, a small piece of cloud

 Melted on my toast on the electric stove.

That’s when and how

The electron of my destiny fatally electrifies me.

That’s when and how

I stubbornly refuse to be born again.

For I am certain if I come back,

The sky would be dark and confusing,

The signals would be misleading

And the words will have double meanings.

But for now, time passes and falls without a parachute,

Deep into my cup of coffee.

 One day when I was a young girl a man came up to me

And gave me his keys, his name, and a child. 

I painted the images of my happiness—my paintings were not small talks.

I invited him to come in and sat him at my dinner table

And told him my secrets.

it is not 

I pretend that it,s not cold.

I pretend that I am not buried under an avalanche of snow.

I pretend that time is not wet,

And its not hanging by the window waiting to dry.

I pretend that we speak each other’s language,

And that we connect to each other,

Each from our own galaxy.

I pretend that there are no beasts hiding

Behind the closed doors of my house.

And in the dark corners of my corridors

I pretend, I am stronger than Nature.

And I can climb up the rain like it’s a glass staircase!

I pretend I can stitch together the earth and the sky

With the thread of my tears.

I pretend I can tie time and love with hope,

Like an invisible ribbon.

I pretend there are not many ifs, perhapses and maybes,

That they don’t come out of their hiding

Just to shake me up like leaves in the wind.

I just pretend.

on the balcony

 Blue multiplied by blue, and as far as Eternity blue.

The small patch of cloud wakes up by the footsteps of the Sun.

On the pavement in the light, two silent red butterflies

Are sitting on my temples.

The brown, dead leaves and the gray, wounded sparrows

Are debating with the cold wind over whether  to stay or go.

On the balcony Someone is standing, to watch and to witness.

Someone who in season opens the windows of the sky for the rain to fall.

Someone who worries over the irregular number of rose petals

And sprinkles fresh air in the open fields.

And His voice is so soft and clear that can draw an imaginary roadmap

Leading the streams to the rivers.

On the balcony Someone is standing, to watch and to witness.

She gave him everything to hold;  some red apples and her heart.

lazy summer day

It is such a pretty day today

Everything is light and weightless.

I am sitting on a summer chair by the shade of a tree.

I feel  particularly lazy today.

I do not feel like being clever.

I do not feel like being sweet.

I do not feel like being kind.

I don’t feel like being beautiful.

I just want to eat the red juicy watermelons 

Out of their glass dish,

Using my fingers,

And spit the seeds out.

 Her dreams were her unrolling wounded realities.

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

When I saw myself in the mirror

I asked who are you?

Are you my mother ?

Are you my child? 

Are you my friend? 

Are you my enemy? 

I looked her in the eyes 

I told her to tell me everything 

That I had  forgotten to ask her before.               

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!”

my shadow

I am that woman

Who lost her shadow many moons ago.

I started on a long journey to find it 

And I left everything.

I looked for my shadow everywhere.

I once saw it at the bottom of a clear lake, staring at me.

I bent down and tried to grab it quick and hard,

But suddenly it vanished and disappeared on me.

So I continued on, on my journey.

One time in a train, in a station

I saw 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 saw a gypsy woman

Dancing with my shadow to 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 any more—

I just sit and try to sink 

Deeply and silently into my own soul.

And maybe one day, many moons from now,

When I am completely clear,

I will find and embrace my shadow,

Which has been there in the depths of me

All along,



For me.

Women in the neighborhood came to visit

They wore gold jewelry,

Flower patterned dresses

They smelled of the same perfume.

They were made up to look happy and content.

What will they say when they hear 

That I have dirty dishes in my kitchen

And that my milk has gone sour?

not there 

You add empty to empty to make full,

But you are only left with empty.

You heal loneliness with loneliness, sadness with sadness.

You add white to white to get color

You run in circles playing hide and seek with your God.

You silence sound with sound.

You try to light up darkness with darkness.

You are a small Particle floating in a vacant emptiness

To find the missing pieces of your soul.

You climb up the ladder of what is not there

to the heights of what is there.

the visit

I will not be here 100 years from now.

But still there will be the smell of warm bread. 

Children will still be playing in the sand box,

And someone will be looking out that window

While someone else will be standing down there

On the pavement, looking up and calling out a name,

A name I would not recognize, of someone I would not recall.

There I would be strolling with my soul 

Like a piece of a blue cloud.

Feeling completely detached –no joy and no pain.

I will pass through the smallest holes  in the wall or a crack in the door,

And visit with people who are eating, sleeping, crying, laughing,

And just pretending life is eternal.

I will come to visit but I will not stay.

I will not need a sweater.

I will not want to embrace you or hate you.

I will pass through like a breeze

To visit with you:

All these new tenants of this old house.

 I guess there is a certain pleasure in being lost. You just don’t know where you’re going to end up or what is going to come up.

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Posted in Literature, Mahvash Mossaed, Poetry |

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