Taraneh Javanbakht

Canadian Poet
I was born in Tehran (Iran), in May 12, 1974.
I got my BS degree in chemistry in Tehran in June 1996 and came to Paris in 1997 in order to complete my studies. I got my MSC and doctorate at Pierre and Marie Curie University in Paris. My thesis was about the stabilization of the oligonucleotides (anticancer biochemical drugs) in 3T3 and K562 cells. I have done my PHD at Pierre and Marie Curie university in Paris and I have finished my thesis on 1 July 2002.
I am now resident of Canada and I live in Montreal.
My works have been published in various literary journals and magazines in Iran. They contain lyric and modern poems.
The names of my two poem books are: "The Cups Of Speech" & "The Age Of Mirror".
The Fatal Wave
The drops of the fatal wave,
the wet hand in the wet hand,
intend to become suddenly free,
from the dust of their body.
In the look of the sad sky,
the heart rendering scenes,
the bloody hands. The value 
of our life has become the
upside down leaf. It results 
the rush of death, the farm
without harvest, the drops of 
the fatal wave, unaware of 
the fence of night, run away 
from the memories. The killed 
of event is the poison of our
epoch. I tell as a bird about
my nest in the thought of travel
because of the pain of love.
The Broken Wing
The color of its wing is the sign
of freedom. Flew in the paradise
with other emigrants, in my long
reflection the wild pretty swan.
It was a captive for the bad hunters.
Its wing was bloody, it hurt by an
arrow, the sad broken wing. Groaning
of the pain, it fell in a vast lake. It
rained intensely. The tears of the sad
sky kissed its bloody sore. The swan
is in fact the nice country of pride.
I dream its flight again in the sky.
The Shore Of Silence
Grumbled again the tired wave of travel
in the charm of being in love with the
shore of silence. The reminiscences of
slavery were the bitter mysteries of its
seclusion. Finally in freedom it intended
not to like except the sad melodies. It
addressed the thirsty soil with its clamor:
"O! soil, my melodies for you became
the collisions of hope, my drops for you
the witnesses of life, I only demand you
to think alike, you became the quiet share
for my zenith."
The noble shore answered in this way:
"O! wave, pride of my stature, spectator
of my captivity, firmness of my body,
your breast is my sky, honor of the
mother sea, hero of waters! The years
this silence nestled in my heart. The
oppression of the brand of the sunshine,
acquaintance of my wound, the sky is not
any more a sympathetic friend for me,
the story of the stars is not in my mouth,
the captivity of earth became my bitter
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