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The Splendour of Iran
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Payvand's Iran Literature ...

5/1/03
Poem: The block

By Leylanaz Shajii
lshajii@yahoo.com

It is not me, stupid
it is You.

I could have a fluid mind, a clear river with glistening words swimming on the surface. With letters flowing mellifluous through me gently, no resistance you see, forming terms and phrases reflecting in the stream as double nuances.

If it werenít for you Damn you damn you I would be soaking in vocabulary, drinking the imagery dissolving my sorrow.

It is all because of You that my voice is deep buried in my throat aching throat a sludge rotting behind your concrete dam wading in pain through your mire making sounds as I strain my cords for elaborate words, my diaphragm in spasms making sounds like an ass baffled in morass.

They say itís a sign of blooming to be pressed against your reeking stakes in silence. They say I must embrace. But I canít think of flowers when Iím trapped behind you.

All I want is to kill you to break you even if itís alone for a crack to let words leak through, to let voice squeak through.

Leylanaz Shajii
Palo Alto
April 23, 2003



Answering Only to God: Faith and Freedom in Twenty-First-Century Iran

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