Of Death

I have never feared death,
Even though its hands are heavier than nothingness.
My fear, though, is of dying on a land
Where the wage of a gravedigger
Is higher than
The price of a human’s freedom.

Searching
Finding
And then
Choosing at will,
And to build a bulwark
Out of oneself_

If death has a price higher than these,
Never, never, ever I am scared of death.[……]

ادامه ی متن

Romantic

He who says “I love you”

is a sad soloist

having lost his song.

 

I wish love had

a tongue to speak

 

A thousand happy larks

are in your eyes,

A thousand silent canaries

in my throat.

 

I wish

love had a tongue to speak

 

He who says “I love[……]

ادامه ی متن

شش روبان

برای ش

اگر خنیاگری بودم، برایت شش آهنگ عاشقانه می خواندم
تا به تمام دنیا بگویم از عشق میانمان،
اگر تاجری بودم، برایت شش الماس می آوردم
با شش رز به سرخی خون تا محبوبم را بیآذینند؛
اما من مردی ساده ام، دهقان عامی یی فقیر،
پس این شش روبان را از من بگیر تا موهایت را ببندی.

زرد و قهوه یی، آبی مثل[……]

ادامه ی متن

My Idol

Of all these moons
that are scattered on your sky
only three suns pressed together
can compensate for your beauty.

Your eyes
are two thirsty rivers
beyond which canebrakes
a banned load is being carried.

Of all this snow
that has whitened your teeth
what heavy snow
does the s[……]

ادامه ی متن

To a Skull

Your father moaned

like a mature cat

And your mother was thinking about

the pleasing pain of the end;

and that in her pathway

she must

wrap your swaddle clothes

around a humble fool;

Or perhaps she was in her motherly dream of

a tassel she would sew on your nightcap.

 

Anyhow_

the[……]

ادامه ی متن

In the Field

There are thing the eyes catch,

and things the eyes miss.

For instance:

The square where the troops

practice massacre,

can be a green field;

where the children of the rainbow

dance

and chant

Thus, he

who grins

at the last call,

can only be

a grin

before “the fire”!

[……]

ادامه ی متن

In this Blind Alley

They smell your breath_
in case you have said I love you.
They smell your heart.

Strange time it is, my darling.

And love
is whipped
at roadblocks;

Love shall be kept concealed in corners of closets.

In this rough blind alley with twist of cold,
they keep the fire
burning on[……]

ادامه ی متن