We Are All Okay

Sogand Shenavar

Hello.
We are all okay.
Nothing’s wrong here
beyond the occasional wandering off
of that murky dream
which people call Unreasonable Happiness.
Regardless, if I have time left
I’ll live without hurting a deer
or paining this shaky, incurable heart.
Let me write, before I forget,
how rainy it was for our dreams this year
and I know your courtyard,
wherever it may be, always blooms
with the scent of not coming back,
but at least occasionally make note
that a smile in a dream while sleeping
isn’t the same as the face of an anemone.
I should tell you… I dreamed I bought a house
without curtains, or windows, or doors, or walls—
Oh, keep laughing!
But let me be honest:
there isn’t much time left. I’ll be forty soon
and I believe the fact that tomorrow will come
is a good omen.
In this moment, a platoon of white doves
is flying above our courtyard
and wind carries the scent
of the names of my beloveds.
Do you remember leaving home
to bring back news
of the sky's tranquility?
No, Rira dear—
this letter must be brief,
simple—
without doubts or any words
to cause a ripple.
Let me start over:
We are all okay, but
don't believe me.