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Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
YOU delirious about the coastal span - from
the country that went on a hot year - then become the
beach your body: spread out - fragrant and hungry!

Like the perfume ad page, which is torn off
thick copies, magazines that chock short of pictures!

The one on you lies, I, which is released by the wind,
large pickaxes, mooring the sky, then sprinkling wildly

I started this guerrilla, facing my own shadow,
your spicy sand bath, quartz that grows hearts

Late afternoon. The sun goes past: yellow past
soon it was broken and glowing, the blood of a snake
I've repeatedly looked at digital numbers,
Casio - waterproof, 200 meters - an hour of the day



If the sea yells, the sentence is the waves!

He did not carry any name, until he called the bay
Place turtle loggerhead, from far journey,
Thousands of miles pilgrimage, to the sand he had hatched,
littered, food wrappers and beverage cans

This *******, like undesirable verbal abuse!



What have I found? Or broke it? I'm a farmer
threatened insect pests, certainly can not keep, seeds per
Seeds, immature rice. The season is short-lived.

When I see the location of the taxi to the North,
I also had to go back there, fold the map, then
stepping like a man's footstep -
like the song I heard from Springteen - and
write down a poem that I am afraid of his verses.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
How Can a Moon Make a Shadow from a Boar's Body in a Forest Feeling The Entire Night?

2. Is the River in The Forest Choosing Himself Where He Was Turning or He Should Ask the Wild Boar Frequently Crossing It?

3. How Many Wild Boars in The Forest Have Ever Realized That There is Always a Moon-shaped Shadow from its Body?

4. If the Boar is Dead, Is the Shadow Dead or Staying and Hiding in The Shadow of The Forest?

5. Has The Wild Boar Ever Thinking That Moon Is a Boar Stuck at the Elevation Then Slept and Sleep Is On?

6. Is the Forest to Which There is No Boar Still Worthy to be Called Forest? Why No Boar Moon? Night Boar?

7. Can Later When I Die and Bury in the Forest, Then from My Grave Go Out a Wild Boar Without Shadow?
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
A pair of lovers is a pair of tongues that say the word alternately, the same word, which moves from mouth to mouth.

A pair of lovers is a pair of eyes that never tired of looking at each other, lyrics to each other, closing each other, in the light and dark.

A pair of lovers are two travelers searching each other, and steadfast wait until finally found each other.

A pair of lovers is a pair of names that ask each other for a place in memory, so as not lost in the loss.

A pair of lovers are a pair of farmers who rush to the fields do not wait for the rain to die, because love is a fertile morning.

A pair of lovers is a pair of eyes in the night, there is a beautiful dangling light, and there is hope that gee, rampant.

A pair of lovers are two lines on a gurindam, longing for revenge, mutual opening and closing, harassing, muffling.

A pair of lovers is a pair of longing hands, stalling to the empty, as if to rub a love on the forehead full of sweat.

A pair of lovers are a pair of hearts at a glance, bristling, as you imagine the longing will be very torture.

A pair of lovers is a pair of interconnected books, the first book, continues into the second book, and vice versa.

A pair of lovers is a pair of books that amaze each other on the cover, because it knows very well what is written on them.

A pair of lovers are two books, writing and reading each other, without ever interchanging the pages.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
DOES it feel like to be in love with you as a punishment? I repeatedly appealed, requesting that this verdict be exacerbated and expanded.

     Does it feel to love you as a prisoner? I am happy that you are a warden who is never far from my lockup.

     Does it feel to love you as a kind of forgiveness? I do not care, love still love, no matter proven guilty or free from lawsuits.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
MORNING is the way the earth teaches me how to love you, what I seem to routinely do, but in fact never repeats the same.

Morning is the way the sun teaches me to be faithful to you. He was never silent but did not move from him. Thus, true love is a love that does not ask.

Morning is the way the dew tells me about sincerity, and it wants me to imitate. It will only be there for a moment. But on the leaves, the traces of the story remain legible.

Morning, earth, sun, and dew, are my way of doing things for you, that is finding myself in who is not me, as I got from my love for you.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
LIKE rain fingers play a sound in your leaves,
Clinging to the overwhelming silence I recognize.

I once had the courage that turned out to be frightening.
Without you, I'm a coward, pervert already in the first step.

I want to write any sentence, with words
cried "Oh .." at first. And "Ah ..", in the end.

I imagine it's in melodious lyrics, which are sung
singers - who like me - are never good at dancing.

As for the song - after you hear it - meaning:
leaving you, that means I leave
myself,  that's why only on you I'm back.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
TIME was not there. But there is. On the crease lines around my neck, for example. It's lined up like a ladder. I walked there, not knowing I was on the way up, or down the stairs.

It was not there. But there is. In fat bags hanging outside my gastric sac, for example. Slowly he lowered his head. Being so full of where I should not be.

It was not there. But there is. On the tangle of wrinkles on the back of my arm, for example. Also the shadow of the scars, whose pain had been long, so intimate. I accepted.

Also on the hair that has been clear, the color of the fishing line, and I am an anxious fish, wielding its own age - a sign that time exists - that drowns, subsides, and shrinks.
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