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Cyrus Nirou
Poems
Iran
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Translated to English by Manavaz Alexadrian
Tombstone
This is an eternal sleeper
in a tomb trimmed to her body.
With a small stone, polished from pink marble,
the color of her face during an untimely death,
with engravings from a withered flower.
Above the tomb,
a picture is hung in a frame which laughs,
with fan-like upturned eye-lids,
which cools her rosy cheeks.
every morning the sun shines in her eyes
and every night it dies in it,
lonely!
I wish, mother, you would have embraced for ever
this withered rose.
This pink marble is the tomb of a child,
among tombstones whose dead ones while alive
wasted 80 or 100 years of their lives in futility,
and still the stench of their rotten carcasses
Incite the bats to fight with each other on upper branches.
In the gap and fissure of their bed,
darkness looms!
Enjoy your years and age,
for you will always remain 3 years old,
and you will never feel
the waste of years
and the stench of their tombs.
With Morning Promenade
Mostly at the season of dew she steps into the street,
with a mass of eye-lids,
and with the tranquility of her heartbeats.
The gaze of windows,
in her beautiful negligence,
rains kisses on her face,
as if she walks from a rainy street.
It is a sky where the drop of rain
does not frown.
At the moonshine of maidenly sleep in her house,
the season of her comb and tresses,
a secret breeze in the garden lane
stretches its wing.
it is now past the season of dew,
for a persistent sun
caresses the gap of her breast,
it is a fire that does not frown
from the sting of warmth.
I'm the kiss of the window,
I'm a hidden breeze,
I'm the persistent sun,
I'm infatuated with her.
The Pair of Your Shoe!?
Small stranger!
you left him
in your childish stubbornness!
now afar from you and the caress of your foot,
it is sad.
small stranger!
the pair of your shoe is lonely.
Maybe tonight the old torchbearer of the universe,
will not light the torch of stars!
maybe the rush of wind and a cloudy frown
will annoy her body!
the pair of your shoe lingers away from you
without a shade.
Damned be this forgetfulness!
it is long since any trace has been seen of your footsteps!
so that the foot of a passerby or the magic of a street sweeper
can pollute its small body.
I will take it to my house.
Small stranger!
it will live with you and will grow with you.
now two persons
are awaiting you!?
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