al-majus

We had lives.

Palestinian ones. In the silk grass

curls tousled in the wind

the smell of the sea

Yemeni ones.

Sitting on chairs too small for us

a coffee and a friend

a tasbih of cold carnelian between rough fingers

We had lives.

Syrian lives.

Fresh tobacco 

in a crowded cafe

hovering above a forest

a boy showing off his smoking skills

a singer with a voice like the wind on a mountain

Libyan ones. 

The muezzin on the loudspeaker

a little girl at the souk

new golden bangles

We had bangles.

Iraqi ones. Under the date palms

before a doorway to another time

a rose as big as your hand

And Afghan ones.

Under the stars, Afghan ones.

Through the canyons in a pickup truck

a fire in the desert

a mud house

I sit here. With my dainty cup of tea,

Iranian. Sort of.

On my grandfather’s rug for one

in a garden not mine

scrolling

scrolling

which of us is next?

and my cigarillo is almost out

and the poet’s jasmine has fallen over

written by Alaleh Mohajerani

first published on TikTok in 2024