Porquoi? Poem by Ghazal Ebrahimzade

It is your butterfly….
flying among your eternal lines, never die
sitting on your smooth petal sipping from the last droplet
in the windiest day of the year, cloudiest and dark
in the sharpest slide of the hill going up up up where you are buried among the thousands of others as talented and vigilant as you are
breezing through the place you lie with the guide of the necro-cities' nightingalesHoooo…Hoooo…Hoooo…Hoooo…Hoooo…Hoooo….Hoooo…Hoooo….Hoooo owls of the hidden, owls of the better remarks in reciting the long poem of the long grasses of the tombs …who you are?
not know, don't ask me…pour quoi…?
It is your dragonfly….through reading your stories suddenly found
hoveringupon the lotuses of your swamp, drowning in the lake of your heart, water splashing out… damp…damp…
chercher et chercher… qui est tu? a homeless author in strange lands of so far that traces of your tomb remaining in dark while peti ta peti it will be soirand late: je voux parler avec toi mais it is difficult to found a tongue…not really known pourquoi?
semi- French, semi English, in what language discussion run on?
you don't know, neither do I pourquoi…?
only…miles…
miles…
It is your dandelion
pampering your eyes, cleaning your tear drops …
breathing in your sky
from
miles
don't ask me pourquois?