Poetry

Phoebe Dill photo

By

Sarah Pedramnia

Time To Rejoice

It’s another night

And stars spin around up in the sky,

The fierce flames’ sparkle hit the air

And yes yes they all vanish or fall;

And sweet dew drop smoothly off her

flat belly,

Drops flirt and run

And midnight air chills their caravan;

Her bare feet tap on the cobblestones

As she whispers the melodies just born;

Every audience tosses a coin in round of applause

And they smoothly hit her half wet skirt pants;

She bends and rises, and turns

Twists her hand, thanks;

She cannot stop the dance, no she cannot!

In every sudden touch of the wind

Her hairs fly and rejoice with her

Like no phoenix feather has ever rustled

Even in the call for the spring;

And her velvet lips tease the audience

And her amazing eye lines, propel her pure confidence;

And her big brown eyes

Challenging beauty to confront her it dares;

Challenging anyone who hasn’t rejoiced!

Whirling and singing I open my eyes

Door’s closed but window’s open;

Half-drunk and half naked am,

I sit down on the sofa, my skirt pants’ wet;

My head spins recalling stars,

I stare at worn out candle lights

And;

Your thought drove me wild in my fantasy;

No one could imagine of what I was bestowed

But Jesus Christ

And closing my eyes I whisper again:

“She dances with fire,

She doesn’t hide; She Dares to Love but

She cannot be possessed, just as you will not;

Her passion burns so Are you afraid;

For Fire burns; yet,

Time to rejoice. . .

It’s time, to . . .

Wonder Of The Angel

Let this wounded angel in,

To wander the green flower garden of your dream,

Because you know how to fly,

Because you said it was only once in a lifetime

opportunity;

You said Love is the ocean as we wonder,

Because you said life was more than our speculation,

Let her land on in the majesty of your hand,

Let her surrender safely to your will;

It is to return through your eyes back to heaven

Her only prayer is that you recognize and seize her passion,

Caress and cuddle her in cold sleeping nightmares and

Fire, the fireplace;

Let your soft voice become her lullaby,

Let it become her Life’s remembrance,

Order such a freedom for heaven’s sake

Shelter her, Let her lean on your chest for now and forever, baby;

Amen . . .

Sarah Pedramnia

I was born in 1983 in Tehran, Iran. I grew up in a family with humanist values and beliefs and was three when we realized that I was epileptic and was twelve when I realized that I have more to do than a normal person to be able to stand in society.

In 2009 I went to university and studied English Translation and am working on my thesis for a Masters. I have been working on poetry writing and fiction as a freelance writer and undertake complementary literature studies.

I have approximately 50-80 poems in Persian and a few poems in English. I consider myself not as a professional English poet but with good potential and some good English poems.

I started writing two novels in Persian last year, ’10 days in love’ and ‘Two days in Paris’ and may just turn them into scripts.
Along with poetry, I am writing a story in English ‘The Lady Lavender’ which is a story of the conflicts and life of a woman in the 1970s, not accepted by society due to certain circumstances. Her name was chosen by the process of making Lavender Oil, in which you should first cut the sprigs and then let them dry. It was after my divorce three years ago that my perception radically changed and most of my works reflect my own life and challenges faced in my country as a member and in life as a woman.