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Research: Iran

Yadollah Maftoun Amini

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Literature: Poems of Iranian Poet, Yadollah Maftoun Amini
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The Wild Horse, Translated to English by M. Alexandrian
Straight like the giant freed from the bottle,
The wild horse stood on his long and red legs,
Washed his mane on the white stream of wind,
The impudent dapple rolled his eyes
Like the eclipse of the full moon in the mirror of a stream of a fence;
Then 
With his two iron hoofs
With all the strength of his boiling blood
He beat several repeated strokes on the crystal and wood,
The sleep of the old addicted eunuchs,
Was disturbed,
The terror of the bells rang in the corridor,
The wild ass neighed
Like the clamor of the thunder in old stone baths.

The night watchmen said to himself:
"Two things are likely to happen:
Today or tomorrow,
Either the bitter and cursed blood of this unmanageable Horse will be devoured by puppies,
Or after a while (an unknown tomorrow)
The stone horse
Will become the last statue of the city's big square."

The morning wayfarer said:
"Weather this or that 
The neigh of the horse which has shaken the frame of the fort,
Will remain in the street's tape recorder!"
Many Years Elapsed
Without descending from the caravan of yellow horses
With the music of the peaceful Nile,
Many years elapsed,
Many years
The dejected bridegroom
Spent his last coins on the dying lamp in the narrow bride's chamber,
Without benefiting himself.

Many years elapsed
Many years elapsed and they carried away with them love and the song,
The apple, the ring, the bowl, the pleasure ground, 
The flights;
Shame on them from the faith of the candle in the windy nocturnal march;
Those early migrants who didn't say adieu to their nocturnal bosom friends.

Many years elapsed,
How short and fearful is the last opportunity
Like a cigar which has remained as a token of remembrance with a tubercular poet
Who has not smoked for a long time.
Accomplishment
The first wet clouds,
The first dry leaves,
Discord between clocks and shades,
The mixture of thought and haste;

The last sea voyage,
The last scent of grapes.

O dear friend, which way are you going?
The one Him who you were expecting
This year,
Has arrived from another direction, on foot and calmly.
 

Research: Iranian Contemporary Poems

 

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