For that guest
You go and have some fun
I go work, have no time.
In the age that I am
Death comes and knocks at door.
I think of suitcases
books, notebooks, videos
and photos of research
must make sure are arranged.
The writers and poets are all mess
have notes and half-written everywhere.
But Hafez,
of him we, have one book
nothing more.
Not that he wrote just this
he was well-planned to clean
I must too…
must manage to arrange
develop, present, or shred,
if not a bonfire…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem