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Safoura Nayeri
Poems
Iran
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Translated to English by Manavaz Alexadrian
Two Orange Hands
Listen and hear.
a sound
issues
from the thin maple leaves,
beating
at the warm atoms of air,
and heart to heart
reaches between me and you.
I wish
I would own
my childish heart,
like the laudanum,
then
never, never I would have grown so big
- so bitter -
I was pouring
orange perfume
on my childhood tresses;
an orange perfume
from the water permeated stalks of laudanum
- which was whirling
between two baby tooth's and to rosy lips -
which dropped on my heart
and reached my heart.
Sit down and listen.
maple,
in its green and white leaves,
conceals a secret
which it will expose to us, if
we return to our early childhood:
- We must look at a laudanum
we must look
and think of a garden full of laudanum....
I would not have grown so bitter
if two laudanum's,
two orange hands
- your childhood hands -
would sit
on my childhood tresses,
and would say:
"Surely, never, never,
you shall grow."
When I Was Calling You
When I was calling you,
a garden full of silk tasseled acacia
used to wake
on my lips
and a breeze
which issuing from all the plants in the universe,
kissed
my larynx.
Sad fingers
the magic flute played the ancient tales,
and with the soft touch of each finger,
and from each hole,
the while bows of lime flowers,
flowed
in a smooth pink air.
When I was calling you,
I understood
that each tale can
revive
in a small room:
the prince of yellow rose, the Div and the fairy,
beside each other,
rekindled on the wall and
held the
gray spectacles
in which the soul of these imprisoned personages were imprisoned
in front of the light
and with a sad and childish agreement,
they opened the lid.
When I called you
the heart - a wandering planet -
stopped and
listened
with fascination
to the answer of fingers
which
were groaning
on a love hole,
a death hole...
To Wash Away...??
Could I manage to wash away
sadness
in the water,
I would carry you
to a distant spring,
which I know from long time ago
in a familiar mountain;
I would wash your hands
in its clear bosom,
I would wash in its clear bosom
your forehead, eyelid, cheeks and heart,
and would dry it
on a blue lily leaf.
With a moist gaze,
you were smiling
and like the gazelle
I rained
violent and dark stones
on the plain.
Beside wild bushes
- concealed in colorful wild flowers
we would lay our body
on the earth,
and would sing:
Could we
mount sadness
on the wind
and let it fly away.
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