Thread-like Remembrances


From a long Persian poem called “Faalgoosh”

A breath of song

An ancient song, submitting me



To the thread-like remembrances

In my mind’s attic

My state has scattered my decomposed remembrances…..


How many times have I loved?

When was it that I plucked on my path my own flowers?

Do I walk with a lantern?

Or in the moonlight?

Am I the water seeping in the path of darkness?

With the distant glance of my friends, do I submit my existence…

To the beloved gazes?

Neither from the lassitude’s corner,

Nor just against the narrowness, the intolerance,

Why do I stand up?

Why liberate myself?

Why do I flee my confusion?


I should read a couple of pages, which know better than I,

The pleasure of the morning, in those eyes, more open than the flowers.


A mouthful of songs, a decomposed remembrance, a withered flower

Languid and crumpled, am I.

At the bottom of this chair, my crumple-ness

Wants to open,

to shine,

to fly…..


I should stand up

I should do something

I must…..

bring in the light.

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