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Ode to summer


The Coloradan summer

Has once again come

With a gush of eastern breeze

Running through the veins of Shiraz vines

Soaking the jest of life

From the cradle of dust

- The essence of youth and decay.


How many more are hidden for me?

Of bees and sparrows

Of wandering lazy dogs

Of memories that have lost their meaning

Of clouds that come, linger in wet,

And hurriedly disappear over the blackened horizon


The enemy is sitting on my wrist

Chipping away

The morning breeze

And the evening rain

Pouring on the fragrance of gorgeous blooms.


A boy from the east

Sitting on a bench

Dedicated to a Mr. Busch

Alien to the concepts of time and immigration

With the same summer in his face

That he discovered 60 years ago

In the dusty, poor and desirous allies

Of a forgotten Shiraz.


Denver, July 09, 2007

Esmail Nooriala