For a skeleton's 44th year
by Fatemeh Haghverdian
Translated by:Ramin Rostampour

My father sowed my life in the wind
So that my mother would reap whirlwind
I was born upon the hand
So that I would grasp my life with both hands.
They held me upside down by my feet ,
Walloped my back
And then cut my root…
Cry with Breaths
And I began
Along with my memories.

Man and his memories has always stuck together
When my father came back
There was a bullet in his hand
And a bullet in his heart
It looked as if he'd died with folded arms
I said "Okay"
And folded my arms resignedly
My mother brought her hands up
I became Sitar
She didn't know how to play.

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I've become addicted
To the invisible lines of these letters
To the silent alphabet of these hands
To the turbulent pulsations of these restless nights
Some streets through my eye
Some streets through my throat
Some streets through my arm
All of the roads are less than the alleys that wander through me…

[][]

Having been wrapped around tricolor cloth ,
My childhood was buried
So I shivered beneath the skin
that had dressed in black.
(Human beings are inseparable
from their childhoods;
Anxieties and desires of man
are born from his past's womb)



[][]

I don't become attached to
The twinkle of these stars
To transience of meteors which go out
I've become fascinated by the flames
that blaze in your heart and
escape from your eyes.

Sun Wells
out of your rocks
Ocean ,out of my eye's springs
I'm satisfied with a small river of yours
Don't become sea
So that I will die of thirst.

very nice!
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