«The Garden»

«The Garden»

There was no water—

yet the grape still thirsted to ripen,

while the hand of fate

leaned toward picking it.

The gardener was lost

in another realm,

yet the grape of our garden

was drunk with longing,

eager to rise and fly.

My love-worn, wounded heart

arrived from afar,

offering its greeting

to the gardener,

the garden,

and the grape.

What a strange state—

my heart held, all at once,

its weariness

and its yearning for life,

its longing

and its quiet regret.

Shariati‑Moghaddam, Ali

September 2023 — Panama