I'm lucky
I read poems in Farsi
'Where is house of the friend? '
That poem and replies, of Sohrab and others
All are soft, calm; soothing.
I'm also student
Restart, September
And I read on her face
Her skin talks and shouts
'I am new; my first year.'
She's mirror...
I descend, penetrate
Four years back, I was there
Lost, confused, vertigo
Who is who, where to go?
Time is up
I'll be gone
By year end
Where head to?
Where to sit or start?
This repeat
Come and go
Sorts of life
First grass, then apple
Animal and or bird
Then turn dust
Human
Later what?
Later what?
Later what?
I can't fight this question.
No answer, I am lost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem