The painting that I
drew with these very hands
of (we don't fear) the night
I hung on the neck
of the sky
and with these very same hands
I commanded fire
The night that I had painted
was pregnant
and its stars bled
until this very morning
Someone was sprinkling salt on my
'In life there are wounds', I said go
I will surely talk to my shadow
and convince it
that definitely wounds
are the salt, the spice of life
Someone was sprinkling wounds
on 'my life'
I was taking off my fingers from your shoulder
I was loading my fingers that I had taken off from your shoulders
I was withdrawing my fingers that I had taken from your shoulder and loaded
I was not thinking of the moon
I am smoking it with your 'hold it',
the painting
that I drew from (we don't fear) last night
Translation: Maryam Ala Amjadi
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Catching title, nice idea, well chosen words and a strong tone that I have felt. well done