My daughter

She is braiding her hair in the sunshine,

and invites me slowly, from the shade to the glare of light.

There is a rainbow on the far end of the horizon,

left from the remains of the rain round the rays of the sun.

Green, white and red.

A lioness sitting, waiting to roar the hope..

The carcass of a turbaned body,

dead before the sun rose

and burnt the bones to make ashes to ashes.

Gone.

The turban opens up and catches fire.

Ashes to ashes.

Someone from among the crowd cries your name.

What was the last syllable?

Hope? Desire? Blue sky?

I called you as you were taken away wrapped in the black smoke.

The turbaned carcass stole and hid your name.

My Hope. My Desire.

Your name jumped from the ashes

like the murmur of a stream, in a Spring day.

Your name is spoken in a thousand languages.

Your combed hair carries the light taken from the rays of sun.

You are the one in a thousand colours.

You are the name in a thousand languages.

You are the girl waiting at the edge of time,

To be sang and danced round thousand squares,

with thousand tunes.

You, who sat witness to the ruins of your land,

and your tongue and the books which printed your name.

Your name will be carved over the rainbow.

You, the spark in the darkness,

and the smile of hope,

Mahsa, Nika, etc, etc, etc,