by Mehdi Mousavi
translated by Mohammad Hosseini Moghaddam
The dark clouds are ominous
The shadows are ominous
The cola is full of poison,
the poison of
carnage In the court of
condemnations
I swallowed my
cry While I was sued because of
loving you Here you should
whisper gently There are many
ears, there are many rats Even if
our Iran is a cat You should
remain off You should remain in
the gutters in the ashtrays and in
the radio channels Tomorrow they
will all broadcast your confessions
The pain of solitude is worst than
what batons cause That’s why
they drubbed you with me in our
last nights You knew there is no
way There is no way And freedom
equals death But when the loser
was waiting for the referee to end
the game The fans were clapping,
the fans were just clapping The
jungle had a dream and had a
love Burning in our brains And
there was a burnt cat In the hands
of bully boys The good students
were graduated from
springhouses With many
manifestos with many manifestos
I wanted to tell you that I love you
But the machine guns could not
understand this It was the son of
Adam who had apple I just had
sorrows I did cry and someone in
the mirror had poison You are not
here And I will not go to that café I
will not have a soda with any one
any more I will not have a black
soda any more All the life there
was a blackness hidden behind
our white dreams And the curio of
the clouds was acid rain Last
night they put saddles on their
bikes And took us and took the
sun to the prison of Evin The
oriental sun suddenly became
something bad And tomorrow for
sure they will broadcast sun’s
confessions aw well We are dead
and who are alive are fat And in
all the news papers, the columns
of sophistry are fat Their
stomachs is now full of our bloods
What a pain! And to whom I
should cry my pains Even God is
fat Lashes or prison for life? We
are condemned in advance The
love is forbidden And the emotion
is contraband What is left to say
when all my friends are dead?
And the cat of this country is now
eaten by the rats
by Fatemeh Ekhetesari
translated by Mohammad Hosseini Moghaddam
- run
A voice passed by me. And
someone just ran inside my
confused mind - run The streets
were crowded and crowded - run
The cars were honking in an
endless night Honking after many
years of forgetfulness Entering
my ear and confusing my mind I
heard them honking And I kept a
torn up picture in my hands I
heard the sound of being lost in
all the dead-end streets I heard
the sound of tears slipping down
the rocked eyes I heard the sound
of tear gas and cigarettes all
stinging I heard the sound of
batons meeting backs and heads
And I heard the shadows running
behind me -run Two silences
made a voice The voice of our
hands separated from each other
The voice of yours passing by me
The voice of yours becoming the
voice of people And the voice of
mine lost in all those bad days I
was sticking to a postern Sticking
to my office to my job Sticking to
my pills in all those nights of
insomnia And sticking to all those
duplicated mornings I used to
wake up and practice my laughs
and practice my cries With a
duplicated mirror I used to put my
impatient signature in the bottom
of official papers I used to look for
one thing in all the newspapers
impatiently And I used to come
back from the office in all the
afternoons of impatience Coming
back to the silence that welcomes
you in every room Coming back
to the cold hands that keep the
hot cup of tea Coming back to the
bad days followed by worse And
Coming back to me waiting to
welcome my husband Like a
happy wife who waits to welcome
her husband Waiting for him to
throw his socks in the living room
- run My house is filled with the
thrown away sounds -run
Someone touched my shoulder
You should run to the streets of
madding crowd And to a woman
in Arabian veil You should run to
those two shadows behind you
And to the fear of keeping a green
wrist band in your hand You
should run to yourself stung by a
hot bullet And to your fingers of
the V sign You should run to the
clotting blood in the corner of our
lips And to the night which is our
sad resumption To the incomplete
night of liberty And to yourself
dying in my arms To yourself
being alive among the deads
And to our hands meeting each other
again Call me I am you I am as
cold as your hands Call me I want
to come back to the streets Call
me to whisper in your ears with
love Call me to lose myself in
your arms and in my dreams
Come back and resurrect the
memoires Call me
And rescue me from myself.
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