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Forough Farrokhzad

(5 January 1935 - 14 February 1967 / Tehran)

Green Mirage


The whole day,
I was crying in the eyes of mirrors.
Spring had handed over my window-
to the green illusion of the trees.

I was not fitting into my lonely wrap;
And the smell of my hollow crown-
had infested the surround.

I could not,
I could stand no more-
the noisy lane,
the cry of birds,
the blast of balls,
and the screams of a child…
And then,
the waltz of colorful kites,
in all frames of my windows-
like soap bubbles-
climbing up their white tiny ropes…

And that wind,
the wind was breathing fast,
as if in the darkest depth of a making-love.

They were all, pressing on the gates of my mute fort of faith.
They were breaking through;
And, when they did-
they called my soul-
by her name.

The whole day,
I stared into the eyes of my life.
Those nervous, fearful eyes,
were running away from my sight.
Like helpless thieves, they hid-
in dark, masking holes.

Where was The Peak?
When was The Rise?

“All these spinning roads will end-
in the cold, absorbing mouth of death.”
Isn’t it right?

What did you give me words, sly words?
What did you give me sore limbs?

If I’d put a flower on my hair,
wouldn’t it be better- than this fake,
this paper-made crown,
stinking on my head?

I don’t know-
how the ghost of desert possessed me-
and the marvel of moon moved me away-
from the faith of flock.

And, how the empty hole in my heart grew-
and infected the whole heart.

I don’t know-
how I could stand and watch that Earth,
was falling down underneath my feet.

And, how I could bear-
thta the fever of my lovers-
could never reach-
the fading hope of the void
in my heart.

Where was The Peak?
When was The Rise?

Shelter me blinding, mystifying lights!
Shelter me, glowing, silent abodes!
Shelter me in the row of your washed cloths-
swinging on your roofs!
Shelter me in your basin of scented steams!

Shelter me perfect, simple women!
I watch your fingers tracking-
the fantastic course of your unborn child-
beyond the depth of your expanding skin.
And, I sense that the tears of your robe-
spread in the air, the generous perfume of fresh milk.

Where was The Peak?
When was The Rise?

Oh, shelter me, shelter me!
Shelter me fire-stoves, lucky charms!
Shelter me, singing plates!
Shelter me- in the sticky stream of your sink!
Shelter me, blue melody of sewing machines!
Oh, Shelter me!
Shelter me- in the daily quarrel of rugs and brooms…


Shelter me, greedy loves!
Shelter me, survival instincts!
Shelter me- in your stained conquest bed-
Shelter me- in its elixir flood and blood.

The whole day,
like a forsaken remain riding on the tides,
alone in my boat,
I was heading towards-
frightening rocks, deserted isles-
towards the darkest, most profound caves-
near the most dangerous sharks.

And my thin back-bone was shaking-
up to the extent of the wits of Death.

I could not,
I could no more.

My footsteps at the end,
confessed to the vain futility of the route-
And despair, at last, defeated the patience of my soul.

Then spring,
that Green Mirage,
while passing cross my sight,
whispered to me :

“Look!
You have never advanced,
you have been drowning.”


Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani, August 2006, Montreal.

Submitted: Thursday, December 29, 2011

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