Behrouz KiaBorn in 1937 in a little village

looking over the Caspian Sea,

from a father who was a judge,

and a mother

who was from the village.

I learned from the nature,

from the first day I went to school,

riding through the woods.

Learned the alphabet,

and how important a tree can be.

We learned that nature can give us more

than we can ever give the nature.

22

FOOTPRINTS OF DREAM

I painted my dream,

on the spread of the night.

Sun washed it away.

I draw my day dream,

on the sand, by the sea.

Waves erased it.

Night is heavy.

How can I,

in the vast of this heavy darkness,

pour all of my warm dream ?

Night is moving away

from the soft of the sand.

And yet,

I am laying next to my dream.

“ Give my painting back “,

I said to the night,

“ before you go away ,

and I shall give you my dream.”

Sun is sparkling light on the grass.

The wet steams away.

With it, it takes my dream.

And,

I don’t take my painting back.

33

A SONG FOR A DANCE

Her thought

thick as a drop of spring rain,

bright as a candle,

and perhaps

as tall as a drop of dew.

But not as thick as petals,

softer, more tender.

In her stories she tells

to the doors and windows,

the birds talk of the wind and clouds.

She smells of forest,

sea , mountain,

and that little pine tree.

44

BLUE, GREY

I walk in vain,

with thousands of nothing

in my sight,

to where all the road connect.

I look at the sky,

it cuts to two pieces.

Half stayed gray,

I looked at,

and half turned blue,

you looked at it.

55

FLIGHT BY SUNSET At sunset,somewhere between the silenceand emptiness,the road, slowly moving,listening to the cry of the river.Shadows dancing by the northern breeze.Sun takes the last lookat the valley.My shadow is holding handwith your,but darkness takes them away.Only river playful, joyful,keeps on singing.Smell of distressfalls on the dry leaves.I pick the first starfrom the dark of the sky,and hang itfrom the ear of a wild rose.The road dancing,follow the riverto where the sun is gone.Shadowless, mad, drunk,hand in hand with the road,I am being taken to the seat of the sunset.Forest stops breathing for a while,to let the lost birdfind its path.

66

THE SONG OF THE FROG IN FOG

Sky gray,the lake gray,no lilies on water.The birds have long gone.Only frogs are the occupiers now.On the black leaf, sits no lily.The song of the frog,breaks in the fog.No reflection of the face on water,The fog covers the moonlight,and the gray water, the beauty of the face.Rose petals gone,riding on the back of the wind.And,no hand picks another rose.No face washingits reflection in water.The song of the fishermenmigrated with winter.The boats are sitting on mud,the nets a tangled pile.The oars broken, the fish gone .Water gray,heart gray,no song in the air.The song of the frog echoes in the fog.

77

BLOSSOMING

I look at the bulk of emptiness

of the street.

No light,

no trees,

no green,

not even the sound of

“ good morning “.

It looks as

silence has found a eternal seat.

On day,

may be,

the spring shall revolt,

and

the green shall get

the seat back.

88

THE OTHER SHORE

 We called each other

from the two shores

of the separation.

Our hands flying,

our souls in deep weariness.

Birds flew from our lips,

Crossing each other’s line.

Your words rained on my dream,

I could see you setting

on the horizon.

99

THE BLUE OF THE MORNING To think of you

has become a habit,

in these long moments

of loneliness.

I think

we are all chained to the time.

The magic of your being

has a charm

that has metamorphosed me.

Your kindness is running

in my feelings.

 

To think of you

is a walk on the streets

of dream

to spring.

The chair is still empty.

When there was

the desert storm in me,

your smile was

sky full of stars.

thought can only walk to you.

1010

NIGHT SINGER

His voice,

from beyond the mountain

heals the night-raving.

Sing,

o night singer .

Your voice brings to dance the Southern Star.

Sing,

o night singer,

The old tree sends its leaves flying to you.

Mountain,

the old and tired mountain

answers your voice back.

River, bring the songs.

Sing,

o night singer.

Nothing is left by the road,

except your voice.

1111

DON’T BURY ME IN MY TOWN

The town talks

and the little sparrow

says “ no “ .

Spring is waiting in loneliness

till the fall

bring the days of death

to roses and the lilies.

Tik Tak, Tik Tak,

the clock sings.

The song travels

from street to street,

pausing at each door.

Your dream flies over the town

dropping only the dry rose

on the black tree.

The tree is in mourning,

the clouds are dead.

There are stones hanging

from every branch.

The soil is frozen,

you can not bury the deads.

1212

THOUGHTS LIKE RAINor

RAIN LIKE THOUGHT 

Somewhere from past,

a smile is left,

carved on a rock.

It still runs

on the corner of one’s lips.

 

--------

 

How can I talk about

the history of this love,

without sorrows.

Without looking at the path,

one can see no path.

Only hope and waiting

lives still on that far away

path.

 

--------

 

I thought I buried my poem,

when I buried you memory.

But my poem

out of earth

still flying

on my hand.

 

 

It looksI have not passed my thoughtthat was with you.And the cross section of life and death

took us to the road.

And now we are lost

for ever.

 

--------

 

I measured the dimension

of the heaven

with my words.

Words passed the heaven.

Heaven saw the words in light,

Sang it in its silence,

and sat in silence.

 

--------

 

We all pass here

as a river,

and join the dream

of the world.

Words go flying

and voices sit in silence.

Eternity becomes silent for ever.

1313

NIGHT , A GARDEN

In the garden of night,

I walk from star to star.

The moon is gone

in search of another earth.

We have forgotten the grace of moonlight.

The bird flies,

while the tree is chained to the soil.

Somewhere in between the two

I shall find peace.

But I am anchored in the lagoon of my past

where only conscious lives.

I could be either,

the bird that flies free,

or the tree that roots deep.

The deep of water

is only a nightmare.

1414

 THOUGHTS LIGHT AS AIR

We think of a poem

as an sky full of sparkling stars,

and

we look at heaven and stars,

as it is a poem

full of words of love.

 

.............

 

Enlightenment is

when we reach our end

and burn

as day in the sunrise.

 

.............

 

We should look at poetry

with the eye of poetry.

Put a mirror in front of it.

We shall know it

in the light of the mirror,

as in sunshine.

 

.............

 

when we begin to talk,

we are but flowers.

Heaven accepts the smile of the flowers

and our words

the same.

1515

ARMS OF THE NIGHT

Standing white,

in the garden of winter,

wishing;

I was tied to the furthest star.

Wishing a white seagull

might fly over my head.

But,

the night opens its arms,

and

I turn back

to the ancient history,

I am so friendly with.

1616

UNITYAll my being

has become a prayer

that repeats the holly verses.

I have dug my own grave

long before history

wrote its first line.

I carried my cross

to the height of the highest mountain.

And,

I kissed the nails

that nailed me to my destiny.

The wind send my prayer

to where the waves came from.

You shall be there

when I shall resurrect

from the wet of the soil.

In the dark of the forest,

I reincarnated myself to an owl,

so,

there shall be no more mourning for me.

You shall open the window,

when the song of night

is brought to you by the wind.

Behind the window,

I shall be your reflection.

I shall smile your happiness,

I shall cry your sorrow,

I shall bleed your pain.

In the dark of the forest,

I shall reincarnate myself

as you.

1717

FLIGHT OF DREAM

 Dream flies,

side by side,

with the white gulls.

When tired,

sits on the white line

that follows.

There is music flying

from east to west.

Dews dropping from the leaves

of the lilies,

drawing circles on water.

Bubbles dance around this universe.

It is the translation

of your departure.

Lips soundless,

eyes closed,

loneliness flying.

The words taste bitter.

Even the incidents wonder

what could happen

when you depart.

BUBBLES OF AIR

 Crickets

sitting in the shadow of the leaf,

think of the sun

yet to rise.

Fish,

running from one corner

to the other corner of the pond,

thinking of the bubbles of air

yet to begin their dance.

Worms,

draw the sky,

the way they wish to be,

under the soil.

One drop of rain

drops on the pond.

A bubble burst,

for the love of moon.

Bubbles can live and die,

when they wish.

RED SONG

 The song standing still,

under the red light of the moon,

listening to the sound of color.

A grass grew,

a song appeared,

a red song.

Sat on the green grass.

Field is full of flowers.

Butterflies begin the festive day.

There are colors in the field, flying.

The red song flew to the winter.

SOME THOUGHTS

 We plant the words in soil,

in the heart of earth,

so there can be a flower.

It blossoms

in the heart of heaven.

..........

 The birds is singing

in the cage of time.

The song takes wing,

the words fly.

Time and words become one,

poetry appears.

..........

Where does the river run to,

and , under which bridge does it pass ?

And the bridge,

puts the hand of which shore

in the hand of the other ?

How does this sorrow runs

that has no voice ?

..........

Every moment is a present

full of the world.

That slowly is being annihilated,

and again,

another moment

full of the world

that is a present.

 

[][]

 

I think that after me

the world shall continue to be.

It is the greatest joy,

and an eternal sorrow.

1818

Correspondence

behrouzkia@gmail.com

Basar Sok 3/3 Gurup Apt.

Moda, Kadikoy 34710

Istanbul , Turkey