Bazaar
Editor Underground
Hana Abdollahi Mirzanagh
The smell of orange blossom
And the salt of the sea
We left it all behind
Like the golden glow of the sun
On the copper pots
We left it all behind
Like saffron and cardamom
And hyacinths in the spring
We left it all behind
Like the weaving of fabrics
Like the breeze in willow trees
We left it all behind
Like long hair that flows in the wind
When the night tells secrets of what once was
What once again can be
We left it all behind
To be teared down by power and greed
I hope to return
To the bazaar of my memories