GHAZAL FARIDI

Grand Minimal Gesture

My love is not sun, gold or moon,
But the promising cough of a kettle,
Beaming orange, reminder of
Tea remains I've yet to bury
At the bottom of my cup. My lover
Isn't wildfire but the residual warmth
Sinking through fingers wide enough
For surrender flags when
Tomorrow is impossible—
My decadent amoureux decline
Dolce delicacy under tongue and speech,
My love is all,
And life's forgetfulness of demise.
I remember you in flowers,
War humaned with brown monotony,
Eden Intruding on wounds
Bouche rouging bruise with kisses,
And places I never intended to see.

 

My Last Day in Tehran

In my room of a stranger’s,
Shaken and tense,
My blood curdles with ache
Heart roped out, pooling
Over a full coiling page.
I’ve drank to write,
Drank my eyes to drought too.
My cracked unbreakable essence,
Makes a good accomplice for wine,
I’ve snuck both from
Our irrationally cold freezer
That also warmly holds
Food maman made to
Fuel me out of illness
When I land in Toronto tomorrow;
And God’s sake—
I’ll consume famine,
Let it consume me before losing
My last relic of a past life: Maman,
If Iran is rubble tomorrow,
And I have eaten it—
What will I ever do?

GHAZAL FARIDI (she/they) is a Queer Iranian poet and activist for the "Woman, Life, Freedom," movement. Her work—inspired by psychological phenomena, Persian culture, and absurdism—has appeared in Toronto Public Library's "Young Voices," Dark Poets Club, and Beyond Words literary magazine. She was a finalist for Markham Talent's acting category and has featured at events such as Verse Deli, Mother Tongued, and The Tartan Turban Secret Readings. They also founded a new literary series called 'poe-a-tea.' You can find her hosting at the Art Bar Poetry or posting and lurking on Instagram: @cherry_vvine.