And I stand electrified before the gods,

and the fact of my impermanence itself leeching all of my life

out of me, to seep out slow, like honey from my bones,

and from my lips I can draw and taste the very blood that defines me.

But Kingdoms were constructed not to pass,

for their inhabitants could not

resist the rain,

the winter’s sleep, nor

the famished hunger of the waves.

Lord, I am parched for a sign,

but damned to Hell if it is no...

I am poised for the affliction.

The anthems,

aswirl with my blood.

Lord, I have bled

the oceans

drier than salt

in pursuit of Thy Name,

but

not until utter embrace

of that which cuts me

can

the soul gleam forth

like a fathomless pearl,

and the sea

to whirl and heave

like an emblem of Thine.

August 1st, 2017

Bosch Bahá’í School

Time alone, this is not good for me.
I am become the solitude of trees,
whose emblem is the forest, but whose heart
is wooden in its loneliness, apart
from one another as they are, and, yet,
God knows what isn't so, and what is best.
I trust in Thee, O King, and shall refrain
from ever leaving company again.


07/24/2017
Bosch Bahá'í School 

They are strange hours, these
that rise and fall
with obsolescence.

Spare me that deliverance to come;
I want it now.
Emancipate me,
please, O King of things.  

July 18th, 2017

West Vancouver

The heart is a swollen moon. 

God has eclipsed me. 

Thank God. 

For whoever designs

himself aright?

Nobody.

There are only the stars to be seen

flourishing in the sky. 

And I have allowed midnight to be lost

as the hours wane and die

and my eyes strain to see them,

O my God, 

like a demanding metal,

like a sign.

07/16/2017

UBC

af. " My Old Ways " by Dr. Dog

The violin quivers with silence; there linger in the air

the soft remnants of Hope

for long thereafter. We imagine Eternities. 

We carve out of wood some

semblance of ourselves,

but it can only break apart, or burn. 

Men, they all die. 

The woods prolong our spirits,

as the stars reign

in their silence. 

I have heard the Music

ineffably fragile,

like a deer in spring,

like stillness is

as well. I have also heard the trumpet

lasting into the...

The people come with purpose and they leave without dismay,
    the coffee shop aromas rising all throughout the day.
    I watch them come, I watch them go, I watch them say their names,
    and talk, and linger on the subject, and forget to pay. 

How very human are we that we do not know the way,
    and yet we wander in the dark, and try, and try again.
    I love the people comin...

Concourse of exiles. 
Dreams, they take us further than
we ever were, into
the entrance into
great Unknown. 


06/18/2017
Lake Oswego

Depression Cherry, the fifth studio album by Indie "dream pop" band Beach House, is both cavernous and expansive. Whilst listening, I am at times trapped within my own skull, and at others I dwell in a boundless realm of dreams and unborn territories, of which I am both sovereign and the slave. What is fascinating about the experience is that I am never quite certain as to the geography of the space I aurally occupy, and this...

There is an old Greek fable that goes as follows. Two flowers, a rose and an amaranth (the latter an immortal purple flower), are having a conversation, as flowers do. In a rare retelling I once heard, the amaranth at one point turns to the rose and asks it, ‘Why are you so beautiful?’—the fact implicit in the question, of course, being that the amaranth’s beauty for some reason falls short of that of the rose, who then replie...

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2018

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada