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Kazem Sadat Eshkevari
Poems
Iran
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Translated to English by Manavaz Alexadrian
With the Wind...
When he was walking with the wind
In the road
They supported the dry hills
With the curls of sand
And bush brambles.
I sing of earth
With the wandering wind
To the expanse of the desert,
To the springs which do not exist.
With the Eyes
Another wave
Rises
With the whirlwind of sand.
O wayfarers of tomorrow!
There is a long way
To the bright and smooth streets.
When the wind
Plucks
The silk scarf of the plain
From hilltops,
It seeks a conscious eye.
O friend!
One must travel
With open eyes,
Even though
Another wave rises
With the sand whirlwind of sand.
Under the Shadow of Anemone
The waves of your tresses
- At evening -
Carries me away
With the river's waves.
When we were crossing the stream,
With the jungle moon,
Your shirt was hung
On the skirt of a bramble,
Then you stayed away with the jungle moon
And with the water
I crossed plains and
Lost the earth
In the sharp slopes.
I was more alert than a drop of dew
When
I was falling from one stalk to another stalk.
But during the rotation of the seasons
I was not more intelligent
Than the wind and
The sun.
The mass of tree branches
Is set aside by a hand,
A butterfly passes by
And then
From the stream of light
When we push aside the sadness
Of the gloomy autumnal years,
I wish
To rise and sit by the green trees,
But a hand pushes me aside,
Suddenly.
Twilight Images
In the ringlets of light shining from atop the yellow foothill
In this autumnal twilight
A color
Fairer than the darling's tresses,
An unknown object,
Such as the fluttering of a leaf
Which slowly sighs
For the tree.
In the ringlets of light shining
Through a corridor
To distant days,
I walk and
For a moment I review the small book of a life.
Twilight Images
A thousand times the rain
Has heard
The cracking of withering bushes,
But this time
It awaits the eastern messenger of dawn
With breeze and smile
To rip up the ash-like air
In the river's presence and
And the wandering light beside the meadows
And to implant
A multicolored mane
On the opposite hill.
From these rocks a thousand time the rain has heard
The recollection of difficult journeys
In the craggy valleys of mountains,
But this time,
It pauses
To let the wind
Expel the fresh clouds from mountain peaks
And to sit down on the rock
with it
And await the break of dawn.
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