I stitch
my skirt
to the spring
of the hostess city,
my skin to the
reminiscence
of springs past
in my city of birth,
and I celebrate
the new year's feast,
Nowruz, on Cyberspace!

Who knew,
cutting off the
umbilical cord to
Motherland that was
wrapped around my neck,
choking me, that one day
Cybernetics
would be my rented
sugar Nanny,
mending,
rinsing,
ironing
my isolation
in exile!

2009, Azadeh Azad