From now on I'll only drink water from the moon never again a sip of earthly waters, not from bloody water of the Euphrates with thousands of broken bodies floating on it Not from the Ganges River with hundreds of hungry worshipers around it I'll fill my fists with water from the moon, to pour it drop by drop into the mouth of the innocent Zayandeh Roud river in the city of Isfahan Poplar trees are thirsty. * Zayandeh Roud — a famous river in Iran
They killed My Brother
For Lorca & Sultanpur
They killed my brother The year of revolution because he had different ideas They killed him the year of the war because he was in love They killed him again year after the revolution because he was aware They killed my brother on the streets of poverty and homelessness And they killed my sister youtaab under the feet of demon men because she was a Brave Beauty They killed my brother they broke his heart they cut his tongue and choked him They fed him bag after bag of Heroin so he forgets about home. They killed my brother again and spoke of the dignity of his homeland Again they killed my brother in freedom square and they sprayed him with bullets in the public eye But my brother is not dead yet and they don't understand the reason he will be in love forever he will be aware forever and will protest forever * Youtaab — a female fighter and hero, in Persian history.
Lost In Ruins Of Baalbek
Milk dripping from their breast tears dripping from their eyes infants ripped from their arms to be placed in immigration cages Maybe that is why I felt lost in the ruins of Baalbek looking for lessons from history between those glorious ancient broken statues talking to Bacchus, the god of wine Or hiding in Pompeii a burnt city searching for a new poem or art to treat my sorrows or wondering in the calm Bazaar of Isfahan that welcomes everyone to the ecstasy of culture, art, and simplicity But I know I was lost imagining myself in the camps between devastating pain of the wailing immigrant kids taken from their parents I was lost imagining their scared eyes in those cages, confused not knowing what was their crime The shock and anger of those children seeping through my heart I will be lost in the darkness of this crime which adds up to the ugly face of slavery
©2020 Mahnaz Badihian
All rights reserved
Mahnaz Badihian‘s artistic expression started at a young age in elementary school by writing poetry and short stories and painting with whatever material was available to her. Life took her through many different experiences such as Nursing school, Dental school, art school, revolution, immigration, and motherhood, but she always remained a poet and artist. She has published many poems and translation books in the Persian language, and English. Badihian has been exhibiting her art internationally for decades, most recently with a solo exhibition in 2018 in San Francisco, California. For 15 years now, her life has solely been dedicated to art and literature. Badihian and Jack Hirschman worked on a translation book and a CD. Her latest collection of poems “Raven of Isfahan,” was published in 2019, to critical acclaim. Badihian finished her MFA in Poetry in 2007 from Pacific U in Oregon. Her poems appeared in more than ten international anthologists. In 2020 Badihian edited and published 300 pages of COVID poetry and art from around the world. Available worldwide.