I kneel before Damascus rose
that has flowered within me
a spirit bloom from whom all forms
of love derive their sweet-scented
ounce of essence, healing verve

with my faith in her endless birthing might
I’m rooted in the spawning ground of love
in the garden of sufis and insurgent saints
as a small soul-searching herb without name

out of her supplication for sunny days
the green blood of faith flows in my veins
giving me the insight of a three-eyed nightingale
that grasps the secret of her sanguine soul.

2005, Azadeh Azad