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Reza Chaichi
Poems
Iran
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Translated to English by Manavaz Alexadrian
Burial
You can wear a red shirt
it makes no difference
forget not a bouquet of flowers
I will fetch the ax and shovel
I told you that death would arrive eventually
and you are not that sun
that will rise again
there are many customers for the chair
although its handles are worn out
nobody buys a statue.
I told you that now and then we must sleep in the sky
and lay our heads over stars
Red shirt
gladdens the dead,
I said
yes, this is a better method.
Resemblance
His hands resemble my hands
his eyes resemble the color of my eyes
it is the interpretation of open windows of my dreams
when awake
and I'm the same broken moon
behind closed eye-lids.
Tired with so much resemblance
I seek another shadow
another mirror.
Stature
It took many years
to finish
the head, the neck and one hand
now I am working on your right shoulder
many years too
I will spend with you alone within the heart of the mountain
and the sound of that ax that falls on the chisel
until you walk out
of these pure fissures
and I can watch you
and see the blood circulating slowly
in your veins.
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