Hamed Hosseini

Don't look at the asphalt
Hamed Hosseini

Don’t look at the asphalt

It has no heart

though blood courses 

through its veins

 

It has no heart

though its beats can be heard

in the pulse of soles 


As the only witness left

it holds the gavel

Receives bodies

Refuses pleas


—    —    —    —    —

 

trucks of corpses

  On the asphalt

oceans of black bags

  On the asphalt

sifting through each wave, finding no familiar face

  Over the asphalt

infant twins, tagless toes, tubed throats

    Across the asphalt

cuffed hands, holes in heads, genitals and breasts

       The asphalt

 

 

                   asphalt

 

 

                                       Asphalt

over the gravestones

 

There shouldn’t be

so many cemeteries everywhere

when there’s asphalt to spare

 

mothers ululate, fathers clap, they dance

 

no matter how much of it they pour

Dance for your daughter

Dance for your son

Dance for birthdays gone

Dance for weddings left undone

 

It transcribes their shoeprints

(which shoes?

those we traded our lives for—

our parents may not dance

barefoot on our future grave)

 

—    —    —    —    —

 

Cheaper than cobblestones

Costlier than human bones

Priceless


Yet there are prices

markets

tariffs

sanctions

for this asphalt

 

As for our fault?


In the 21st century bazaar


we window-shopped democracy

lost track of time


we looked past the price tag:

One drop of freedom

costs gallons of lives

 

  So we kindly ask

 

                                          Don’t look at the asphalt

                                          unless you have time

                                          to read tens of thousands

                                          of epitaphs

 

Or to stay and dance


“This poem was inspired by the events that unfolded during the January 2026 massacre in Iran. As a direct witness to the atrocities that occurred, I wanted to amplify the voice of those brave souls whose deaths passed largely unseen by the wider world. There are few people who understand the situation in Iran, and even fewer who care to learn or listen. I hope this poem can shine a tiny spotlight on the experiences of those who were killed, and also those who survived.” —Hamed Hosseini

Hamed “Hamin” Hosseini is a non-binary poet from Iran. Their work has previously appeared in Rattle. For security reasons, they can’t disclose their educational background. When not busy surviving wars, protests, and internet blackouts, they spend their days taking care of street cats and surviving a 9-to-5. You probably can’t find them online.

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