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With Your Roots

A Poem from the Book:
"The Fifth and The Last Nail"


Mahmud Kianush

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Copyright shall at all times remain vested in the Author. No part of the work shall be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the Author's express written consent.


With your roots

Deep down in the enchanted soil

of the Mother's womb;


With your trunk

Rising upright

Through the flying air

of the Father's mind;


And with your branches,

Though entangled and cramped

Inside a tiny globe of bone,

Yet grown beyond the reach

of the wandering stars,

You are a tree.


Let your fragrant Springs

Blossom in the smiles of your lonely eyes,

And make my still dawn throb

With the hope of another miracle of rain;

Let your ripened Summers

Fall in the apples of your glowing words,

And awaken my despairing hunger

For the taste of another resurrection of Truth.


Hate is only a cold breath of those

For whom death exists

And means eternal curse.


Do not tremble like a nasturtium

In the Autumn wind;

War is only a dying spark

From the idle, clapping hands

Of those who have never sipped

The divine wine of Life.


Do not lament over the Future

Like a delirious epileptic

In an apocalyptic Winter.


Look at your glorious image

In the mirror of infinity;

The sun is holding a candle.

Do not wait until the dawn,

You may forget your dream

When you wake in the eternal Morning.



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