Blood on the Pavement

After A. Shamloo 

 

On the pavement, 

my unknown comrades—

like burnt-out stars—

fell into the dark, cold soil,

until one could say:

 the earth became

a night forever stripped of stars. 

---

And I,

the silent owl in his shadowed nest of pain,

set aside my harp with broken strings,

took up the lantern,

and stepped into the narrow alley.

I walked through the passage of people—

this cry,

the rustle of my defiant wings:

 "Hey! 

 Look out the windows—

 see the blood on the pavement! 

This is morning’s blood, 

as if the heart of the sun 

beats in each drop..." 

---

A rushing wind passed

over the dust-sleeping dead,

and flung the abandoned nest of the crow

from the bare branch

of the old fig tree...

 "The sun is alive!

Even in this damned blackness—

where revenge is a bitter lozenge

sucked from toe to skull—

I have heard the sun’s heartbeat louder, angrier, fiercer than ever before. 

Look out the windows!

Look at the street!

Look at the blood on the pavement—

from behind the windows!" 

From behind the windows... 

---

New leaves of sunlight sprouted

on the ivy

clinging to the old garden gate.

The playful lanterns of stars

swayed once more

on the porch of the sun's own passage.

---

I returned from the road,

my soul brimming with hope,

my heart aflame with beat and breath.

I re-strung the harp once broken,

and sat beside the window—

and with a song bright with defiance,

unsealed the lips of the alley’s martyrs

with a smile of victory.

"Ah!

This is morning’s blood,

spilled across the pavement—

do you feel how the sun’s heart

pounds in its shining drops?

Look out the windows!

See the blood on the pavement—

see the blood on the pavement...

blood on the pavement..."