Saturday, July 25, 2009
The demoralizing phantom holding the cudgel can strike us
Like a rapist would, or screech like an injured swine,
Or reflect our disgraced and beaten will, as the ghouls have.
The vapors cannot cleave from our hearts our children’s dawn
Or their passion tendered willingly as falling rain from heaven,
Like Gibran’s silver thread’s fetching them laughter in front of misery.
They are the heirs, the warriors to lift Damocles’ blade from the sky and
Mightily point it as proof they’ll not breathe another minute next to fear.
They will evermore admonish the failing ghosts of this day’s shadow
And fend off the hounds of cruelty with the strength they’ve resurrected.
There will be no reason to shrink from this; their destiny; they’ve seen
Her floating over their heads, grace and harmony hanging by a thread.
A contest: is any Iranian wishing to translate this to Persian? Please leave your translation in the comment with your attribution or a web site if you post your translation there.