Sacrilege I could sit here And write to you, Verse After Verse. About the gardens encased in light And the hallways echoing with song. Thrumming with words of worship And I could sit here And write to you, Verse After sacrilegious Verse. About the ivy I plant To climb along the steeple And the bells I toll at dawn. I could and I could and I could. Though I could not Whisper about you.
Veni. Vidi. Vici. For Persephone I came. Shivering, destitute From barren land Onto arid soil. A victim of a Mournful Winter. I saw. Gentle hands and Soothing murmurs, Coaxing the tulips To peek out of hiding. An unwilling participant in the Creeping Spring. When she turned her gaze upon me, Streaked with ivy and vine A luscious green of the heralding season, I fell, Conquered By her smile.
Lost at Sea The anatomy of Her Is made of drops. A liquid often Forbidden To the tongue. She is made of A night tempest amid Rousing sea. Waves clamor, One atop the next, To break desperately Along the bow of her lips. Her eyes offer solace The only lighthouse in a starless sky. She is made of Raging waves, and Curved shore. Drop after drop, The only safe harbor In the dying night.
Shirin Zeyaei is an Emirati Marketing graduate with a minor in Architecture from the American University in Dubai (AUD). She is a writer and has been from a young age, writing fantastical stories about her toys going on adventures. In recent years, Shirin describes herself as a “poet in progress”; having recently discovered and embraced a love for poetry, she spends her time experimenting and toying with different words until they string into the perfect image. Shirin’s next literary hope is to someday publish her work, whether a poetry book or a full-length novel.