We repeat ourselves, yet we do not know
we repeat
like the passing of light
like a sound of music,
singing,
every year
throughout time
whenever someone calls,
someone goes,
someone sings.
How beautiful is this stranger’s song
it smells like a bird and fog
like the previous days
in the eastern house with open doors
and bright party halls,
that every Noruz
were full of sounds and greetings
then emptied each night.
Each night, behind windows
there was nothing
except the horde of cranes
in the rain and darkness.
The song of this stranger is like the song of cranes
a repeating song
like the rain.
and cranes lost in the rain
and darkness
cried out
at night
in fog
like the sound of a grandfather`s clock,
and the sound of a ship whistle
like this repetitive silence
which is frozen
behind the windows
in the city
WILDsound Writing Festival 