Necklace

Anxious, sad, agitated,
her face uncovered, her head unveiled,
unmindful of the law or policeman
demanding “covering and concealment,”
her eyes two grapes
plucked and squeezed by the times
to fill a hundred barrels with blood,
mad, really mad,
a stranger to herself and others,
in an oblivion impenetrable by the flood,
a particle of dust adrift in the wind,
without purpose or destination,
lost, speechless, bewildered,
a corpse without a grave.
On her neck wearing a necklace of curses and tears,
a pair of boots tied together
belonging to a dead soldier.
I asked her, “why?” She smiled.
My son, poor child, on my shoulders,
hasn’t taken off his boots, yet.

 


By Simin Behbahani
Source: A Cup of Sin