this summer i have been gardening.
it is something else new.
it is almost july and you would laugh to
see my hands in the dirt.
i have rocks under my fingernails
from scratching at the soil
to see what
it is like underneath.
i’ve seen worms and spiders and
spiny crawlers with squirming legs.
but my dear, i have yet
to come across you.

Evening,
The nice and warm wind of June...
it blows in the evening;
And it was spring...
You move my hair...
You move my skin...
You move my dress...
My dress comes alive;
It was spring...
And it is summer...
The two wheels of your childhood are colored...
Your eyes give olive...
Your eyes give olive...
Your eyes giving green olives...
I pick your berries;
The sun wakes up... ☀️
Your leaves wake up... 🌿

عَصر...
بادِ خوب و گرم خرداد...
عصر می وزید؛
و بهار بود...
موهایم را تکان می دهي...
پوستم را تکان می دهي...
پیراهنم را تکان می دهي...
پیراهنم زنده می شود؛
بهار بود...
و دیگر تابستان است...
دو چرخِ کودکي ات رنگی...
نگاهت زیتون مي دهد...
نگاهت زیتون مي دهد...
نگاهت زیتونِ سَبز مي دهد...
توت هایت را مي چینم؛
آفتاب بیدار می شود... ☀️
برگ هایت بیدار می شوند... 🌿

I feel lonesome hands approaching mine
to walk me through the desert.
I tense my arms against the open night sky
which cannot be pushed away.

I want you to love my grey skies,
my pensivity that rolls across mountain ranges -
the same to me as sunshine igniting streams.
Just a different lens
through which my creature plays with light.
She is elemental
and sloughs skin off the earth like lava flowing
into the ocean to close its eyes.
I'll eat my own tail
to discover what I already know.

Every time i talk about my feelings
I regret it. Always

Because of criticism and pain infused into me,
I have it running through my veins
More than my own blood

Try again?