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Nazanin NezamShahidi
Poems
Iran
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Translated to English by Manavaz Alexadrian
Awakening
At last
that which awakened the earth
was the shining hand of October,
and that which helped time roll
was the autumn's branch -
to
throw away
the remaining contracted pain of summer,
to set aside
the dust accumulated cover,
open again
my eye-lid and that of earth.
I awake,
in front of my eye and earth
a hand
risen from asleep
breaks
the blue skin of the windowpane's backside!...
The Day Arrives
When dawn breaks
night
is smaller,
like a black cat
it stretches
all its body,
clings at
an abandoned shutter
flies over the neighbor's wall
and leaves.
When dawn breaks
a bird
gives a new modulation
to the tone of her voice,
then
she stretches her wings,
and the cat's eyes
follows
farther
the line of flight in the air.
Day has arrived.
Come...
Come, let us simplify the world again
into several easy lines,
which will form the bending and circles of the sea and mountain and moon.
Come, let us simplify love
with a blue trace which can survive from spring
and with that beautiful minute when you were shining
so you can smile in this picture for ever with the same pose.
Come, let us simplify pictures
into back and white lights and shades
which spread its shadow over one's youth
with relaxed hands and a vague smile...
My Homeland
In my ancient childhood,
at far distant places
a silent realm is couching
which awakens
a desire to travel
to happy shores beside which ships
with hoisted sails
cheerfully
pass.
It is Sour or Sidon?
I don't know.
But it is an old country, perhaps Phoenicia...
Thatched houses,
leading to winding streets,
bent arches,
and the tumult of life in an unknown Sunday market,
when the silk
unrolls and exposes woman dressed with dark intoxication.
Is it Jerusalem or Nazareth
- Which is dearer? -
Am I that Phoenician sailor
who by mistake
embarked upon another ship
to be lost in a distant realm?...
Words
Behind each word a room is concealed,
behind each sentence a hidden flashlight
opens to an abandoned path
leading to an avenue which happened once at a distant season
or a room whose door was shut in childhood.
- Is somebody there?...
Behind each word there is an empty room,
in each room a hidden light exists,
behind each lamp a string is suspended
to hang you upon that distant avenue.
- Is somebody there?...
Behind words rooms are concealed,
with silent laughter, whispers,
with ahs, silence, the sound of footsteps;
behind sentences the corridor leads to a dim lamp.
_ Isn't anybody there?...
No! It is only I who ramble into interwoven words,
and the moon which arrives to circle empty rooms...
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