Forough Farrokhzad

(5 January 1935 - 14 February 1967 / Tehran)

Friday* - Poem by Forough Farrokhzad

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My silent Friday,
My deserted Friday,
My Friday: sad, like dusty-
forsaken lanes.

My Friday,
The cold day of ailing, idle thoughts;
The moist day of endless, cruel bore,
My Friday, loaded with grief,
mournful of my fading faith,
and of my vain hope,

Oh, my Friday,
this renouncing day…

**&**

Oh, this empty room,
Oh, this gloomy home!

These opaque walls, isolating me from attacks of youth,
these collapsing roofs on my short daydreams of light,
this place of solitude, reflection and doubt,
this space of hues and shapes, signs and sound,
all speak to me- of this invincible void.

**&**
My life, like a mysterious river,
streamed into those silent, deserted days,
so calmly, and with a lot of pride.

My life, like a mysterious river,
Streamed into those empty, gloomy rooms,
so calmly and with a lot of pride.


Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani, March 2006, Montreal

* In Iran, Friday was/is the equivalent of Sunday.


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, December 29, 2011



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