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                                        Week of June 26, 2000

                           Inheritance
             *******************


             In the corner

             Of a basement closet

             A dark-green velvet covered box

             Keeps my family tree

             Grandpa 's sword

             And

             Dad's 2nd-world war M-1 Rifle



             I wipe off the dust

             And wonder

             What should I leave for my son?

             The gun

             Or

             My broken pen?



             © Syavash Shaghayegh

             Oct. 31, 1998

             http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/7165/

 Week of June 19, 2000

             Das Verlorene Paradies ⁽¹⁾
            **************************

            I wonder
            How a physicist would calculate
            The time
            That it takes
            For the warmth of us to vaporize
            Out of bed

            For the children to remember
            The after-the-dawn-before-the-breakfast sex
            In every corner
            Of this apartment
            While sitting at the dinner table
            Staring at the windows across the street
            From which
            Perhaps
            Some old businessmen
            Discovered our nudity

            Would any escaping lover
            Ever occupy
            Our space under the shower

            What would Paul have done
            Had he ever discovered us

            No apple
            No snake
            No line
            Just
            Flowing colors
            And hours of sunshine


            Syavash Shaghayegh
            © Feb. 4, 1999
            http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/7165/

            (1):  "Das Verlorene Paradies " or "The Lost Paradise" was the name of the painting exhibition which
                    focused on the masterpieces ofthe French painter, Paul Gauguin (1848-1903), held in Berlin in
                    January 1999.

                      The Execution of The Poet
             *****************************

                At the dawn
                just before the birds open their eyes and wings
                and start another day
                they hanged his pen
                in the sleeping square.



                (c) syavash shaghayegh
                      April 26, 1997
                      http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/7165/

                "shelter"
             *********


             I leave her bed
             the warmth of her breath on my neck
             and reach for her eyes
             in the scent of poetry
             where my thirsty hands
             and drowned chest
             can find a shelter of satisfaction



             (c) syavash shaghayegh
                  april 20, 1997
http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/7165/

           Twin
         *****


         somewhere in you whispers live
         voices of a crying little girl
         desperate dead calls
         in search of her mother-
         Where are you mom?
         an old mother's bending tears
         find their way in the fresh soil
         of her 16-year old son's grave.

         your worried waiting at home
         welcomes never-invited
         hungry missiles
         with the flesh of your sleeping children

         here you have to wear
         the complex of
         violent red and mourning black
         perfume

         you turn back
         You feel the unbearable heavy shadow
         on your shoulders
         and try not to knee down
         by holding tight
         the hatred
         in your tired hands

         there - where once
         used to be called streets-
         You don't bother to solute to
         homeless people in meaningless search
         of the left over of their roots
         in the century-extended moments
         just after the gladiator game
         is adjourned

         In the corner of your sight
         you keep the lasting landscape
         where the slaughtered kiss
         of a torn-apart ball and
         an exploded drowned-in-red foot
         smiles to your lost childhood

         you look at your years-old hanged boots
         from the resignation wall
         but still
         watch the adds on TV
         come and join the army
         and you can't even cry


         (c) syavash shaghayegh
             june 14, 1997
         http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Lofts/7165/