reckless
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My stories
Persepolis
Persepolis We live alone in the high mountains, where time ends, at least it seems so. This is the landscape of dreams, this is the firmament of delights. It was lost, once it was lost: and if I came this way again
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- 802 reads
Mazandaran
Mazandaran Our dreams are in the mountain tops, where the blue sky, Pure, preserves them; canopies our minds with longing. Here, on the stone path, hallowed by history, holy, The shepherdess still walks in Mazandaran, by
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- 751 reads
Tehran
Tehran The wind blows cold from Mount Damavand, the blue peak aged with memory, white with the chill of autumn, whispers welcome to the dear ravaged heart, bringing rest. Brings me caresses, a voice that still would speak
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- 825 reads
Dies Irae
Dies Irae Fuego, they said, nothing more, and then the fire, high on the hills. I could see it, and feel the warm wind over the water carrying cries, my village brightly lit. Running, they were all running, I could hear
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- 844 reads
Her Life
A sonnet for Edna St. Vincent Millay, an individualist and maverick. She died alone at 58, sitting at the bottom of her stairs. I wrote this following the format of one of her own sonnets. Her Life
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- 875 reads