The Girl with the Golden Hair

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I’m afraid I forgot your face,
I look at your picture and remember
holding your hands and hugging you.
I shape a display
from the mosaic of happy days,
but I can’t picture you.
The outlines of bright eyes are lost,
and the cheerful look,
because you have been gone for too long.
Without it,
the part of me that makes me human,
will die, I know.
*
December adds gray lines to the picture,
and it is a cold city in the blizzard of greed.
The orange leaves beneath the trees are wet
under the gusts of the icy yarn of evil.
Your arms around my neck
and a hug to sleep
which is squeezing my cheeks are fading.
My demons come to the door,
and they take me far away.
*
After many years,
you wake up in the silken bed of the Alhambra chamber.
You brush your long golden hair, princess.
You read the message minted in your name.
And you send me a smile of understanding through time.
Awakened from the shackles of meanness
by drops of light that fall
on wooden table and floor
I see your enlightened soul clearly.
*
The iron bracelet disappears in flames.
We hold hands again
while strolling through the streets of the oriental bazaar.
Under a dome of jewels,
our hearts are synchronized through loud laughter.
You listen to me joyfully
in the garden by the river.
Shiraz from the glass speaks
that my love last for eons five.
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