Innocents skip hand in hand in pleasure’s garden,
seeking out love’s bloom and pulling the weeds
of jealousy from the field of hope.
But wait, my thigh is bleeding, I am wounded,
struck down by the vicious rumour of pain.
My life force drains away. There is no cure
I was your shield forged in love and dreams
I ran toward a bullet of persecution
aimed directly at my heart
I am your fearless hero
You are my final
breath ...

Mohsen

From Green Left Weekly, October 26, 2005.
Visit the Green Left Weekly home page.

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