Poems

Akhavan Saales

   
 

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Akhavan-Saales


   Winter 


   They are not going to answer your greeting
   Their heads are in their collars
   Nobody is going to raise his head
   To answer a question or to see a friend
   The eyes cannot see beyond the feet
   The road is dark and slick
   If you stretch a friendly hand towards anybody
   He hardly brings his hand out of his pocket
   For the cold is so bitter
   The breath coming out of your chest
   Turns into a dark cloud
   And stands like a wall in front of your eyes
   While your own breath is like this
   What do you expect from your distant or close friends?

   My gentle Messiah, O, dirty dressed monk
   The weather is so ungently cold
   You be warm and happy
   You answer my greeting and open the door
   It is me, your nightly guest, an unhappy gypsy;
   It is me, a kicked up, afflicted stone
   It is me, a low insult of creation, an untuned melody.

   I am neither white nor black
   I am colorless
   Come and open the door, see how cheerless I am
   O, my dear host, your nightly guest is shivering outside
   There is no hail outside, no death;
   If you hear any sound, it is the sound of cold and teeth.

   What are you saying, that
   It is too late, it is dawn, it is day?
   What you see on the sky
   Is not the redness after dawn
   It is the result of the winter's slap
   On the sky's cheeks
   O, partner go and get the wine ready
   Days and nights are the same

   They are not going to answer your greeting
   The air is gloomy, doors are closed,
   The heads are in collars, the hands are hidden,
   The breaths are clouds, the people are tired and sad,
   The trees are crystallized skeletons, the earth is low-spirited
   The roof of the sky is low
   The sun and moon are hazy
   It is winter. 

Translated by Mahvash Shahegh


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Link to another site with original poem in Persian along with the English translation

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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

 

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