A poem

At Kamangir

Iran, I weep for you tonight

I weep for the 8

I weep for the hopes of millions dashed to the ground.

Tonight the night sky is devoid of stars, except one.

The Persian sky has turned from the green to black

and the world watches,

and I pray.

Iran, O Great Persia,

I weep for you tonight,

yet amidst the charcoal ballots

“a tender shoot, like a root out of dry ground”.

“Despised and rejected”… by many

Misunderstood and misrepresented… by more

“No beauty or majesty to attract us to him”

(like a politician),

“He will not shout or cry out,

or raise his voice in the streets.

A bruised reed he will not break,

and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out.

In faithfulness he will bring forth justice;

he will not falter or be discouraged

till he establishes justice on earth”.

He wept over Jerusalem long ago:

“If you, even you,

had only known on this day

what would bring you peace

—but now it is hidden from your eyes.”

He weeps for you tonight, O beloved Iran,

for the millions,

for the 8.

A bloody, barren tree stands,

neglected on the outskirts of Tehran,

with a placard nailed to it:

“Where is My Lover?”

The lone star descends tonight

pierced arms open wide for embrace

walking the streets of Tehran,

searching for His Lover…

eager for their honeymoon called Freedom