Talking bed
I came back; of doctor
Body called “Need some rest”
Soon after we ended in the bed.
I slept for sometime
No one knows for how long.
Half asleep-half awake
Things happened, different
Some changes, my bed was in garage
How and why? Do not know; just somehow.
The shatter was lowered, but open
I could see, was rainy and grass, straws
Came a boy, little one, with invite.
He was too surprised, as was I
“But you are one of the…”
He defined “great ones” and was wrong.
I must have, purchased house of someone
As defined; I tried to get up, fix the things
Mattress fell; gave number and shouted “Call! ”
I was shocked, then sheet fell, another
I tried to fix but, all got worse, strange
What a mess; increased the falling, disorders!
Was the child my youngest, my Puya?
Whom I miss, as do rest, in my heart
Is dream as science of Freud, or of mind?
Or is it, all the thought of the house
I saw bought, de-grassed for asphalt
Or of men whom I met, in Taftan
All despaired, some talking of scape
Laboring in building but their past in Iran?
Was I cooking up some fiction on the facts?
Smuggled to Lahore, encounters, also paths,
And the rest, to Alman, and here, Canada?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem