The Tulips of Tehran

The tulip garden north of the city is in bloom. 
Here tulips listen to the sounds of bickering, laughter
shouts of children on the adjacent ground.

They cannot see the children.
They can only hear them,
only imagine.

In a month, they will all be dead, the tulips--
but now they stand tall on slim green stalks,
flash fancy reds, pinks and pearls.

And the children? By dusk they’ll all be back
in their little homes, eating dinner, watching
the country crumble on TV.

This is the story of this garden, not of the children
or the war they will soon have to fight. The children’s lives end
in the imagination of the garden with the tulips’ death.