2-3.2: RIP

 

RIP

 

Ali Movahedin

 

 

 

A man,

Walks alone,

Down the road,

Toward a structure made of stone,

He calls home.

 

 

Bolts the windows, locks the doors,

Shuts the shutters,

Shuts them tight,

No stranger may intrude,

Into the night,

 

 

Not a breeze,

Not a single beam of light,

Not a face,

Not a face,

 

 

“How splendid is my absolute privacy!”

Is what he says,

As he goes to lie in what he calls

A bed!

 

 

Lies to rest,

Shuts his eyes.

 

 

Shut your eyes,

Lie in comfort,

Rest in peace,

Have your absolutely private,

Dark dreadful deadly dreams!

 

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