BÄNOO ZAN
The Land of Orange Blossoms *
You journey to me
I circle your square
like a pilgrim farewell
to Kaaba
Your women
in farmers’ market
sell me
herbs of memory
in floral dresses
I’m a baby
at their breasts
drinking the milk of
blood
letting go of water
Your men
toil in fields of
abundance
smelling the
difference between
rice and books
Relatives take me in
knowing I’m not
one of them
Friends
keep me alive
to confront them
After all these years
you are still
where I come from —
the land of parents
on the crossroads of
trees and traditions
nurturing my rebel
intolerant and intolerable —
I do not own
my roots
Wisdom is
greater than words
And you are still
where the past is —
the sky
that is everywhere
the same colour
* Nickname for the city of Babol, Mazandaran Province, Iran
The Land of Orange Blossoms
appears in CAROUSEL 42 — buy it here
