poem: late bloomer

Hi there ~ I will be posting new poems, in full and or in part, to my blog every week! Perhaps more or less often, depending on the winds. I hope you join me in this journey!


I have known many lives
in only one, whereas two
years hold the seed
and the next three
its blossom. Who
has seen Paris more than
a handful of sunsets? I,
who have rose into New York
on four separate occasions and
lingered not for long
but left changed,
is no longer. Me,
who has chosen London
twice and missed Milan
for Marseille thrice,
has only really
been to the latter.
You, who is inside me as
much as I am those moments:
gone as much as childhood
too-long taproots
and curtain calls.
That is, not at all.
Not gone
at all. We,
who is
but one fragment
of one germ in one
seed, are set to grow and
live — then what? We forgot how
the flower blossoms yearly
once it blooms and
sets its seed asail
to make home in foreign lands,
death in frothing waters,
but how our roots
don’t stop digging
and each time
I am left
here having
lived and died
a hundred times,
or even more, as though
each time we forgot about
the blossom, we never forgot
to bloom.

Darian Razdar (2022)

Categorized as Poetry

By Darian Razdar

Writer, researcher, and artist with an activist bent.