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Ghazal Faridi

My Last Day in Tehran

In my room of a stranger’s,Shaken and tense,My blood curdles with acheHeart roped out, poolingOver a full coiling page.I’ve drank to write,Drank my eyes to drought too.My cracked unbreakable essence,Makes a good accomplice for wine,I’ve snuck both fromOur irrationally cold …

Grand Minimal Gesture

My love is not sun, gold or moon, But the promising cough of a kettle, Beaming orange, reminder of Tea remains I’ve yet to bury At the bottom of my cup. My lover Isn’t wildfire but the residual warmth Sinking …