Narrative Of A Long Night Poem by Soran M. H

Night is fallen
and the single star writing in the heavens
remembers...

The silence of stars
Shining from the heavens

The oak tree's hair is unkempt,
its root parched
by stony-hearted clouds
whose teardrops never fall.
The oaks are become
monuments for the squirrels
who ran before the hunter's cries -
the trees do not thirst
for the squirrels' blood
In their passion the oaks
have burnt themselves,
one by one.

The stars silently from the
Heavens shining,

Hungry squirrels are left there
until they die, dreaming
of what lies outside
the cold and putrid rooms,
Iron- doored, lights extinguished.
The hunters say:
We bring comfort of the green of spring
and the yellow of summer,
but the wild squirrels are grey.

The breeze deceives the cypress
while the wind cuts off its leg
and leaves fall, hopeless,
without farewell to the tree -
that high roost of a tired stork.

Old children crawl
toward the vase
where their age was grown
but the breeze deceived and was the wind
and the vase, like the mirror, is cracked.

Families
considering the moon
sell the flower vase
but their hands cannot reach the moon
and they have been dreaming.

Stars silently from
The heavens shining

In the jail
the noise increases...
in the trading room
the noise increases...
but the light in the squirrel's eyes is gone
and the storks seeks a new country
where no-one will cast him out.

In the corner of the terminal,
drifting in the sleep of waiting,
the babble of the building
disturbs this young man's thoughts
saying:

The sun has deceived you -
it will not rise again
until this century of night is ended
and the sunflowers may raises their heads once
more.

2003