Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
The rose on the hilltop
Once I went to pick a rose from the hilltop.
The raging breeze and the wild rain
Made me feel like a restless horse.
My heart, a delicate threatened lover.
Lightning and thunderbolts scared
It to death, telling it that the rose
Wasn’t meant for it at all.
But I continued to climb, a race
Against the void; only ascension was my aim.
I never stopped looking at the colour red.
I watered it with my tears, but I whirled
And was gone by the wind.
Passion tamed me all the while.
I refused to taste the howling nothingness.
©®Shah Jehan Ashrafi
