Statement:

How many winds  

have risen,

with the scar of a bird upen their brow,

on this tree.

Which one could it speak of, at last, 

its grave upon the poet’s back? 

Which one could the painter draw 

with a hand near tears 

and a heart like the pale dawn 

that never blooms? 

Leaf — 

when you tremble

the tree stands firmer. 

Leaf — 

when you fall lightly 

the tree grows heavier. 

Leaf — 

I take you home 

I imprint you 

on a piece of cloth that keeps sunlight 

green, and flowers,

so that you may become for me 

the memory of the bird’s mournful cry 

a bird whose leap, whose sudden flight, I know not when it was. 

All I know is this:

the wind does not know silence, 

nor does it know how to stop

wind.

Amir Shams