I cannot bear to be reborn
and live this life all over again
I am not afraid of living its tedious bore
craving in vain for a meaning
or a sense of balance or worth
I am not afraid of coming to age unprepared to soar
living on the chasm’s edge
lacking the courage to leap
or die the thunders’ hedge
Not even fearful am I of re-living my old age
with all the intrigues it’s bound to wage
not finding inspirations in Mozart’s stage
but flogged by the dribble of a kitchen spout
broken in a family rage
not caring for the contours that lit bright
but seeking in the darkness’s embrace for a surprise
secreting on my eyes winter nights
fear or doubts that maybe this wasn’t my life
I only played for someone’s
who will rest in my plot
spewing rumors after both our demise
Borrowed a heart and only its sighs
thus, hunkered in time and a place averred to be mine
Yet, I fear not another life identical to the one I’ve survived
but horrid of the hurt I might reprise on those I’ll walk by,
and to those unknown alike.
Behrooz Ghorbanian