Few poems by Baktash Abtin/Translated by: Mahnaz Badihian

Few poems by Baktash Abtin/Translated by: Mahnaz Badihian

   For Mohammad Mokhtari( another poet who the Iranian Government killed)

 ‘More crying than smile ‘

Your foliage,

 Was a fall from an autumn tree.

Poetic autumn of sadness

The hand that lost your throat in the street,

He made you immortal.

And all that has been undone in you is

all that has been revoked.

Birth certificate

And a rice voucher in your pocket.

---

Your Taste

  it has your taste 

the wine I’ve never had.

And how sad are the words

that’s settling in a cup

In front of me.

And how painful it is,

a map that has sea on the wall

but it doesn’t move.

 Island Without you

  is a sad curve,

   Inflated on the hands of the sea.

And I.

most hidden of all

under the tack,

  thinking of you

——-

Black means night 

Black means night
and a dark alley

 means
your bright voice after we say goodbye

Whether I will be or not, be
every evening,
my dreams will
Kiss you in this alley!

White means hospital
and the thin blades of the fan mean
the world spins around my head

you are not here

To wash the feet of my night,
and in the white bedsheets

I pretend to be dead

—

 My Heart 

My heart is anxious
Like the sound of a river,

and your hands that
don’t know how to fall in love!

And I have to drop down from the word
to say,
how
In what way!
The fortune-teller comes and
  in my eyes

Search for a name that for years 

I,

a cup of tea and
The little rug on my bed
 are waiting!

————————————-

 Of the deep wounds

Of the deep wounds
a small line remains
Of your eyes?
what can I say.

the memory of your elbows

Left an imprint on my bed 

————————-

Inferiority sign/

 In my shirt,

many bodies are repeated every day

on your streets.

I’m the curvature on the back of all of you.

And the other line of that bus

that crosses a road every day. …. no!

 We have to play the role of a mouth,

that has risen from bright larynxes

(I invite you and myself to piety)

And I recommend that you  

Shut up.

I’m talking to myself!

Let’s leave this role

to my God!

Majesty god, Allah

I am a guile

And if I hadn’t been a beardless man,

 Indeed, with massive beards,

I would be representative of a few

million curved lines.

 Am!

Oh Lord

Only you know I was my genius.

But it didn’t work out to talk with large

letters in any picture,

I was my own whistle,

 and whoever was in front of me

That’s how in my homeland,

I’ve been the toned spot that

I’d turn paler every day! …

 In my hands,

It’s always a pen

that leaves melted fingers behind.

And on my lips, there is always a poem

that has forbidden words in its sleeves.

I’m a young prophet who has aged in

the sign of inferiority complex.

——

  Taking Hat Of For Freedom 

I’m going to take the hat off the freedom.

look

Who has taken his own life so lightly like this?

I look at the sky and the sea,

  the world is tragic and fascinating 

However, with all these questions

  The strike of meteors, stones, and Whales,

Isn’t bravery?

•   

• Homeland

  Trees with green eyes,

  pigeons with white shrouds

  And you with red cheeks!

  My homeland!

  The coffin of the sun.

  This is how it climbs from the

  shoulders of the sky.

  Falls high!

•  

  ————-

• Bullet Interpreter

  What is language, and what is the

• translation of war?

  What is pain, and what is the translation of tears?

  Remove your index finger from the trigger.

  Oh, Soldier, bullet interpreter!

  I’m talking about you, violent war!

  You’ll tie up all the languages.

  And bombs,

  In any language

  It is going to burst human grudges

   ———

  The Coffee Cup 

  The coffee cup of your eyes,
  this unfinished moon and
  The adhered waves against the cup.
  I am not sure if I follow this line,
   will I reach the pencil of your eyes or
   A broken mirror in which the sun shines?

  But, this white volume
  must be an empty presence of the mirror,
  That did not exist to repeat your beauty!

• As far as the eyes can see
  night waves on the sea
  And this unconscious boat must have

• been brought here by big-limbo sail.

• The pulse of the skinny moon in the

• hands of the sea
  The sound of seagulls in the ears of the

• watchful stars!
  the anxious heart of the sea
  the fisherman’s lost key and
  this unfinished fortune
   
  in the throat of this lock, there must be a key stuck
  I have buried my yawn
  In my mouth!

  ————————–

   Human Restoration

   Hell is life without you.

  Poems!

   The Dream of Human Restoration

  I’ll write you down and

  In the sleeves of the entire world

  I’m looking for a hand,

  to turn the bullet into a white flag

  I like magic like that.

  ---

   Complex 

  Border is complicated  

  Geography is complicated.

  Third World oppressed, poor, violent

  Sophisticated mass suicide of whales on the beach

  It’s simple but

  Suffocated migrant passports in boats

  Third-world sacrifice!

  bread is cheap and death in you

  I wish telescopes were instead of Mars.

  They’d rise to your discovery.

  The third world is wounded, sad, covered with death.

    

  Hypothesis 

  Assuming the Earth rotates around the sun.

  assuming

  Magician moves seasons

  Assuming spring comes and

  The luggage 

  Takes winter clothes

    to the train.

  When you don’t exist

  What difference does it make to turn the

  clock back or forth?