By
Soodabeh Saeidnia
A pot of tea
A friend and me
A pure privacy
The only annoying one
Was a pot of tea
It was night and rain
Pouring with hundreds of songs
A poem of Gheisar
in a hundred lines
When we were talking,
the tea was becoming
cold politely
It wasn’t angry
It didn’t complain
The tea stayed with us
that night patiently
Time passed and passed
These days again
we sit on the table
a friend and me
with the failed sorrows
Our world is virtual
What a pity!
Everyone crept one side
entertained and satisfied
We sit together
careless and free
but sometimes
The only excuse is
a pot of tea
“Micro-poems”
D ay to day
A mbushing for
Z ero chance of
E nding war
I wonder
how people
keep their wishes
in a jar
and expect them
to fly
Words
seduced them
in the springtime
by essence of
the blossoms
though rebelled
in the autumn
the wayward leaves
I’ve been surrounded
by a sorrow
that was born
in a sunny year
and has never died
in the cloudy years
after the sunset
The nefarious light
melted
the heart of
the snowman
and he cried
until he died
Too good