© Michael Ackerman

From far away                        you bury your father

wipe your mother's tears        from far away

in a café where you can ambush loneliness

you chat with a weeping house

video call from afar

Mother            three steps above everything like a moon                 is up there

kissing Mahsa (moonface)

goes after Mahtab (moonlight)

and yet her demeanour which carries a headache

is the execution of my placeholder

in the the arms of a few women

In a banned house

they're all coming

like I have left

            I'm in deep sorrow

this sorrow of my words

in Langrude

at the foot of a bridge that's more a stallion than running

                        they killed my father

they killed my father

                        but

                        only in Langrude

otherwise each year someone's

                        leaving, breaking away

Friday is a bleak house that was massacred

and the family, the Iran which was executed at home

since we chanced out of the loins of Eve

and Adam became man's exclusive pa

we put Jesus in the Church

so the hero so hidden in women's loins

            would manifest instantly

to send death

            that's ahead of the horse

                        far from the house

At the foot of the bridge that so lacks a father

            as Jesus son of Merry

I was so walking in myself

            as to put my town to shame

Not so shamelessly as Juda

to unleash wolves to kill the father

I should keep quiet

            so the rabid dog won't wake

and bark and bark in the house

and the blood letter lurking in female loins

won't get the chance

            to cut a wound in the morning

now that the horse is the principle

and death        the bailiff

with the sorry state of my eyes

that make a small sea for the frog to swim

what do I do if I don't risk

no longer will few extra throats harbour such a lump that makes a necklace to my throat

death

            is sat squatting in my sorrow

the knife can no longer help my life

the bottle is so full

            that any longer has no wine

and the wound that has a depth of ruin

is so effective

that blood is random walking through my drunken veins

the one who was my pa

the big baba

the  friend on road

the one seen

            jamming with me

I was left alone

Am alone

            by my J's

am alone

            by my J's

more alone

            by my J's

                        more than ever

This alley is more for the job than a knife

            this house from the arm

this pain

            will last another man

this man

            will rise in another place

the road's father is from either side

and death        that is life's destination

                        is the services café along the way

It has a lantern

            but it's dark

has bitter tea   in narrow waisted cup

but sweet

like a lament spilling off the call of lovers

A Ashura band of chest-beaters         this side of the way

singing            oh my Hosein             oh my Hosein

A band of chest beaters                      that side of the alley

Oh my standard bearer's stature        where art thou?

Like a nation bequeathed of Imam Hosein

            a home town is left behind

from a little house

at the end of a road

in a remote place left behind

A nation that put to fire its country like a match

slayed the bedstead

and morphed the spouse to a sea

Long live the wind that was but late

Long live the desert that has no sea

and mother

       mother

    a mother who can no longer

            pin her lips onto my cheeks

The road has a journey on either side

and me            a half torn hyman       a half torn hymn of Sohrab on the wedding night

I haven't shed the father's blood to come true

I'm whiling death's remit

like a shoe with laces  untied

I'm such a lout

that could for the killer

who has a stocky stature

turn my thumb to a spade

you say Ouch!

And be careful

god is great     hallelujah

father is not dead  hallelujah

and love

like a recipe with water's flesh           against the mince with the face of a cow      is all ready

Mary is not anti magdalin

Leila is not anti love

 and La Elaha Ella Love

            is a hailing

                        that has a son from tomorrow’s

the alley in each house is the father

and for pa

            a nurse

            that is privately

and a rice paddy         which can't be sold without my signature

I am heir to your wound father

what have I to do with your garden

give your assets to your brother

and your son in law who sleeps with the most sisterly god

            enjoying his time

I'm like a brigade who's lost a country

my base is lost, no longer to be found

I'm gone like a sunrise after sunset mother

at least sweep the clouds off the mountain of Karbala[1]

plow the snow weighing down on my roof

don't cry

just your being there for me to look into your eyes

is still more than enough

the fact that you kept saying God is Great aloud as I misbehaved while you were praying and now that God is Great keeps bugging your life

God is Great

Cradled in the sunset going down the slope of Thursday

Halva again

why don't you donate the dates again?

Oh my lord

The half finished painting of my wedding night

and I'm such a lout

that cannot help being a fathered child

I've even forced my Sunday to go to church

to sit next to Marge somewhere along the isle

and constantly

to wink at Mahsa who is a female Jesus

I'm no longer the person that I was

I have no time

and when ever I have no time is the (right) time

I am no longer a man  who is no longer like Adam

if you are

just say Ouch!

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