Saturday, March 17, 2007
It’s time to mow the flowers,
Fetch the sickles, come,
don’t spare a single tulip in the fields.
The meadows are in bloom:
who has ever seen such insolence?
The grass is growing again:
step nowhere else but on its head.
Blossoms are opening on every branch,
exposing the happiness in their hearts:
such colorful exhibitions must be stopped.
Bring your scalpels to the meadow
to cut out the eyes of flowers.
So that none may see or desire,
let not a seeing eye remain.
I fear the narcissus is spreading its corruption:
stop its displays in a golden bowl
on a six-sided tray.
What is the use of your ax,
if not to chop down the elm tree?
In the maple’s branches
allow not a single bird a moment’s rest.
My poems and the wild mint
bear messages and perfumes.
Don’t let them create a riot with their wild singing.
My heart is greener than green,
flowers sprout from the mud and water of my being.
Don’t let me stand, if you are the enemies of Spring.
vaght-e dero kardan-e gol shod
kaar be fardaa magozaareed
daad bejooyeed o biyayeed
laaleh be sahraa magozaareed
dasht be sabzi geravidast
shookhi az in beesh ke didast?
sabzeh be paa khaste az no
joz be sarash paa magozaareed!
ghonche be har shaakhe shekoftast
shaadiy-e del raa nanehoftast
in hameh piraayeh-e rangin
peesh-e tamaashaa magozaareed
sooy-e chaman nishtar aareed
cheshm-e gol as kaaseh bar aareed
taa na bebinad va na bekhaahad
dideh-ye beenaa magozaareed
beem-e man aan ast ke narges
dast bar arad be tabaahi
kheereh, dar in sini-e shesh goosh
jaam-e motallaa magozaareed
in tabar as bahr-e che daareed?
narvan az beekh bar aareed
forsat-e aasoodan-e morghi
bar sar-e afraa magozaareed
she'r-e man o pooneh-ye vahshi
baarvar az atr o payaamand
baa hameh avazehgarishaan
rokhsat-e ghoghaa magozaareed
sabztar az sabz, del-e man
rosteh gol az aab o gel-e man
raast agar khasm-e bahaareed
neez maraa vaa magozaareed.
(For you to get a sense of her poetry's rhythm: typed up by Naj From Dasht-e Arjan)