<\/div>\nFrom Forough’s Grave,<\/b>
\nTranslated to English by M. Alexandrian<\/p>\n
I’m returning from Forough’s grave,
\nDark.
\nI had never seen
\nA cloud
\nStretch its thousand fragments of grief
\nOn the strange realm of a lonely folk
\nSo kindly
\nAnd so devotedly.<\/p>\n
Should we weep
\nWith the sweetest ode of unity
\nIn a mourning ceremony?<\/p>\n
I know death
\nFrom a distance.<\/p>\n
Yes,
\nBut how can
\nThat boundless perfume cease to exist? <\/p>\n
I can’t believe
\nThat I am returning from Forough’s grave.
\nAs if that mature and warm perfume
\nIs still blowing from the end of every breeze.<\/p>\n
I can’t believe.<\/p>\n
I can’t believe
\nThat this weeping cloud is a lie.
\nWhen I Was A Child
\nWhen I was a child,
\nThe flight of a kite,
\nCarried me from the rooms of early waking eye-lid
\nTo
\nThe sun’s orange grove.
\nAh,
\nThat short distance.<\/p>\n
When I was a child,
\nGoodness was a lady
\nWho smelled of cigarette;
\nAnd her big tears
\nBehind her magnifying glass,
\nMixed with the sound of Quran.<\/p>\n
When I was a child,
\nWater, earth and air were larger;
\nAnd the crickets
\nSung
\nAt nights
\nWithin the melody of moon and a deep silence.<\/p>\n
When I was a child,
\nJoy was to throw
\nA stone
\nAt a howling sick and old dog.
\nAh,
\nThose criminal and innocent hands.<\/p>\n
When I was a child,
\nYou could see
\nThat impotent pigeon
\nWhose wing
\nFlow to the air
\nFrom the other side of the scissors.
\nYes
\nYou could see,
\nAnd to laugh only
\nWith pride, with savagery and without deceit.<\/p>\n
When I was a child
\nOut of a thousand and one night,
\nThere was a tale,
\nAnd the tales were brimful
\nUp to sleep and slumbering awakening.<\/p>\n
When I was a child,
\nGod was stronger.<\/p>\n
When I was a child,
\nOn the windows of smile
\nThe tame starling of joy nestled.
\nAh
\nIn those days thinking carts
\nWere not many.<\/p>\n
When I was a child,
\nFolk did not exit.<\/p>\n
When I was a child,
\nThere was sorrow,
\nBut
\nA little.
\nLyric Poem
\nWhen I turn my face from everybody
\nInside the crystal glass
\nThe lights grow beautiful
\nAnd
\nAs if they issue from your shoulder in the moonshine
\nOr from your eyes,
\nWhen you are smiling.<\/p>\n
What a winter,
\nWith all this
\nAhs?
\nWhat an untimely winter,
\nIt must slowly cover us!
\nDo you know?<\/p>\n
Is
\nThere no other path
\nExcept this death which is approaching?
\nNo,
\nNo
\nShelter?<\/p>\n
\n* Forough Farokhzad Is a famouse Iranian poet. She died at the age 35 in a car accident.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Esmail Khoi From Forough’s Grave, Translated to English by M. Alexandrian I’m returning from Forough’s grave, Dark.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":546,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[45],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/96"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/546"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=96"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/96\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=96"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=96"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mahmag.org\/archive-english\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=96"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}