The Hourglass
S. Rouzbeh
۱۵ مرداد ۱۴۰۵

The passing of time exposes the fragility of violent power, while a wounded country holds the possibility of renewal.

‘The Hourglass’

S. Rouzbeh

Have you
ever
looked at
your own hourglass?

Time
passes in silence;
it neither cries out
nor gives warning;
only
one more grain
falls through
the throat of the glass.

And you
imagined
you could
stop the flow of time
with a bullet.

You imagined
the rope
would also break
the neck of time.

But time
is history’s riderless horse;
it knows no whip,
no prison,
no command.

For years
you fanned the flames;

a table remained
without bread;

a cradle remained
without a child;

and a wall
took the place of a window.

You brought things to such a pass
that hell
was no longer a fable;

it walked through the alleys,
sat at empty tables,
and beside the cradles
sang death’s lullaby.

You
spoke of hell;
unaware
that you yourselves
were its gatekeepers.

Everything you built
was a wall,
was ash,
was a prison,

and names
left behind
on cold stones.

But
heaven
is not some distant place in the sky.

Heaven
is the day
when no mother
falls asleep
holding her child’s photograph.

Heaven
is an alley
where bullets
have forgotten
the addresses of its houses.

Heaven
is the name of Iran;
when
the shadow of hell
is lifted
from its shoulders.

Now
look at the hourglass.

The final grains
are falling
through the throat of the glass.

No hand
has the power to hold back time.

Tomorrow
does not belong to ash;

it belongs to the seeds
that beneath this same scorched soil
have waited for years
for rain.

And on that day
of you
no palace will remain,
no throne,
no cry;

only
a black stain
in the margin of history.

And Iran
will rise
from its own ashes,

its name
from the mouth of darkness
it will reclaim.

Source: https://srouzbeh.com/en/posts/archive-ffed5079-77fb-1e48-5d49-c01a32d28b7d
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