The Room 1 Poem by Farhad Showghi

A. stands up and sings. In the desert on the room's ceiling.
there's no enchanted breeze. Magic is still hard to
say. soon gone again or behind the palm trees.
Palm trees, palm trees, and a fox perhaps, several dark
cats and all as it had been.
There's no movable paws here. No lullaby to
rob me of sight, I take the eyes. A. can
stay down on the dark red wool blanket and waits
to hear something
That there
is the railroad train
as it rolls on.
Who's rolls like that, who takes the strain,
What is that sudden railroad train
and makes no wind and is hard to say
and drifts about and ends up in palm trees.

Translated by Brian Currid