Pomegranate

Translated by Abol Froushan


This dry tree
how has it arranged itself so well
so well ... under the rain.... to stand up?
The pomegranate that’s hanging
why should someone squeeze .... who knows nothing?.................................................................

Why the rain that should rain down in this poem doesn’t rain?

And life.... this short lullaby.... finally puts me to sleep
on a page that spent a life in ‘I don’t know’
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 Black Sea

 

The river runs through my home that has run?.........................................
Or too soon.  Too soon is it to ask this rover for help?
Where does the sea rive
In... Or... !?
You would love to tip off this boat of broken oar
Or am I the wave that turns  not to return?
The briny sea  in this far shore   lacked only you    my humerus........................................................
do not pour such humor  on this dear wound
In the end this naked soul
Other than that naked soul
What can it be?    A naked soul?
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 Sorrow

Translator: Abol Froushan


Travel and I have not even been to the top of the alley ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;...............................................

I’m still prisoner to the same room whose age

 I have changed the last two years

Doing loneliness   yet not alone

My mother still comes to my dream to inspect my dreams

And the house I left alone
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