Death of Spring

Death of Spring

Fereshteh Tarighi –Koushkjalali

Translation by Abbas Ghasemzadeh Aghdam

 Joint

In the meadow of my heart

Has grown a bud.

The color of its face

Is so beautiful

And her look as if

Is the color of cleanliness,

The color of purity of a moonlit night.

Sincere as a breeze

Fresh like the Spring.

I’m proud and honored

Because of my flower and unique stone.

In her arrival’s freshness

Each moment

My soul is presented to her.

And how sweet and dear

This dream night.

Drowned in light, flowers and mirrors

Like a white swan

In beautiful clothes

Walks with affectation

Laughter grows on her lips.

Hand in hand with another beauty

Covers the long way of being together.

Both of the love garden

Both young and beautiful

As a dream floating in the minds.

I ask God tonight

To always

Everywhere

Be helpful to them.

I pray God tonight

To support my dear and his.

A spring filled with beauty

In a spring full of beauty

Gardens are filled with

flowers and blossoms.

In a land full of God’s joy

Its people are wandering

Its kids in tears

Homes are in ruins.

The fragrance of flowers and the spring

The smell of greenery in the gardens

And the sound of the swallows’ breaths

Together with the stench and decay

The smell of powder and cartridge

And the sound of those small girls’ breaths

And thousands of kids

In the ardor of the spring.

The home is in ruins

The city weeping in sorrow

And the trees

Ashamed of their growth

Perplexed under the rain of cartridges

The garden is ashamed of its flowers.

And the breeze has covered its face

From the garden.

There comes the stench of blood, of death,

of God’s people’s wandering.

In a spring filled with beauty,

Why …?

Is the creator of all beauties asleep?

Jasmine

I’ve brought up a flower

More beautiful than the most beautiful jasmine

A stone more preferable than all pearls,

even the diamond.

Shining and brighter than, in shining like the sun

Delicate in body as a fairy, faithful, submissive as a willow.

Whose look is warm and holding, as

Mary’s saint look

The shadow of a tear sits on his eye like a dew.

I set my flower in a gold ring as a stone

On that unique old ring.

There’s no one in the world as kind or good

For my jasmine, my diamond, is not better than him.

In the verdant garden of life, more earnest than the gardener.

I sacrifice myself for the flowers and buds.

Wrapped my stone in a silvery silk

Set it in the ring, drunk of this setting.

You got lost in the depth of my glance

My eyes

Which are looking for you

And my look

Which is astray like this.

The empty moment of getting away from you

The bitter moment of silence.

The icy cold and bitter tea

Disordered table and the rebel of the look.

The grudge

Is looking for a way

And the tear

Has lost its path.

The groan

Twisted in the depth of silence.

Oh, how simple a

A lady asks me

Your tea is cold

May I give you another?

Moments are slower than

The cold blowing of breeze

The waiting of the obscure breath of the wind.

The coldness of death in my body

Twisted together hard

And as if the smile

Has lost its color.

I think of you

That how

Went out of the depth of my look.

I think of you

Who is out of the volume

Of my glance.

Appearance

In the worried moments of nights

Moments full of waiting

I hang on you

Up to the latest of latest.

Will this painful waiting end?

Will the day come

In which I’ll touch your appearance?

I know, I know, I know

That you’ll come

Like the hidden prophet

You’ll appear to me.

However,

When and what time?

May be so late

But I know that you’ll come.

Earthquake

I draw away the curtain

From the window

There’s the morning again.

The light with the dawn’s passion

Kisses the pane.

And the breeze drunk and succulent

Smells my face.

I’m hazy of the story of time repetition.

I remember last night

How sorrowful I was.

My chest full of a thousand tyrannies

My head hazy of the turn of days

My heart of the strange breaths of tens of humans

Drowned in blood.

And the nature as if

Sowing onto the ground

The seed of a game.

And the earth quakes

The houses destroyed.

A child uncertain

Looking for the mother.

A father

His dear one’s corpse on his hands.

A mother crying and searching for her child.

And I staggered

Watcher of these games.

And the earth quaked

Everywhere was in ruin.

Bodies with no soil.

Afraid of this cruelty, I

Drew the curtains back

And rolled into the darkness of the night.

The day came

The light meddled in

As if I were

Inside the maze of a game

Lost with no news.

Which Garden Do You Come from?

The breeze

Brings your scent to my bed.

The night hugs the window

And the abundant perfume of jasmine

Leaks out of you.

Which flower garden

Have you come

That the night has been so filled

With your body’s perfume

My bosom was empty

My heart was empty

My room was emptier

And my clothes had

Your body’s perfume.

Your name

Is on my tongue

Your love in my veins.

And the silence of the house

By your beautiful laughs

Broke.

Which garden are you from?

From which flower garden?

Maybe

You’re just a flower branch

Carrying

The scent of a flower garden.

You broke the silence of the house

Spreading your perfume

Everywhere

And scattered

Your name

Throughout my house.

Windows must be closed

To keep your good smell

Candles must be put out

For you to shine.

You flowed in me

And brought the smell of life and breeze.

In the land of red waters

In the land of hot plains

Where the Nile

Draws its body slowly to the soil

The sun

Like a halo of fire

Shines on the plain.

And its blue colored sea

Clear Like children’s tears

Like rain fallen for a few days

Has washed away the dirt.

I wash my body in its clean water

Maybe darkness

Of hard days past

Will leave me

I free my tired body

In the salty water.

Neither feared from the waves

Nor of the rocks.

The sky has spread itself

And the water has the same color as the sky

Colors are waving

And get darker in the depth I free my arms

And wash my body

In the most beautiful sea of the world

Maybe I’ll get beautiful

Maybe the purity of water

Will penetrates in me.

If I were able

If dreams were real

I would invite you as the hot sun

As the angry running river

To my lonely bed.

If I were able

If Dreams were real

I would change you to light

To shine on me forever

To a love

To house in my heart forever.

If I were able

If Dreams were real

I would give you my eyes

To make you able

To watch

Whatever of goodness

I see.

I would press your hands

In my hands

To make the whole warmth in me

Flow in you.

If I were able

If Dreams were real

I would become you.

Or you would change to me

You would sit in me

You would get awake there

You would cry

You would laugh

If you would become me.

Flowers’ Celebration

I heard you’re coming back

To the flowers’ celebration like a butterfly

I heard you’re inflaming

Beside the flowers like a candle.

In the celebration of your eyes dance

A thousand full cups I have

I heard you’re rooting out

In the green meadow like flowers.

The leakages of your eyelashes

Make the hearts distracted

Come to the party tonight

Sit by my side in the flowers’ celebration.

My heart is dealing with

Your failed contact

Calling for you O flower

In every ruin.

Open the window

Open the window

Look, the life has begun

Let the breeze

Blow in eagerly

Spray everywhere

The eternal spring perfume.

Open the window

Take away the thin curtain of the heart

Entrust it to the breeze.

And trust that the garden

Knows your heart’s pulse

Understands your kindness’s words.

And trust that LOVE

Is ever flowing in the vessels

Of the eagerness of TIME

Open the window.

The story of Allspice

At a cold and dark night

In the heart of a garden

Allspice germinates.

Full of pride

She whispers:

In the heart of this cold night

Between snow and ice

It’s me

Decoration of the garden.

Ornament of this cold and patient garden.

The rich perfume of my body

Has covered the space

The night has become drunken with me

As if beside the cold breath of winter

I’m a fire in the heart of snow.

The passers-by, drunken and hurrying

Benighted

Fast escaping from the black winter

Sings and whispers:

Oh, how lonely is

The allspice in the middle of the night!

Has neither seen a spring

Nor eager to meet the breeze

Her body has quivered.

Allspice is a symbol of the loneliness of

these gardens.

The passers-by

Frost beaten, quivering, lonely

Squeeze their hands in their armpits

Again sings:

From the spring

From the breeze

That together with it

Give life.

From the violet that laughed happily

When she blossomed.

And the drunken narcissus

Whose worried look

Gazes at the smiling face of the copse.

Again sings:

How the plain got full of beautiful tulips.

The pennyroyals at the side of the creek

Dipped their heads into water

With the sound of the breeze’s warm breath

Are dancing.

The water, the mirror of the meadows eyes

The spirit in the flower’s chest

The swallows’ passion

Has become love stricken.

I wish it would be possible for the spring

To smile to me.

I wish it would be possible for the breeze

To kiss me on the face.

I wish it would be possible in the spring

While they celebrate Nowrooz

The allspice

That is I

Allspice

That is I

To dance in the green.

Allspice in the snow

Quivers for a moment

Tears in her wet eyes

Suddenly flew out.

She slowly whispered:

I saw neither a spring

Nor from the breeze’s migration

I took a share.

My mother told me

In the time of spring

When cold weather and snow are gone

I will sleep in the cold heart of the ground.

I saw nothing with my eyes

From what the tired passer-by told me of beauty.

I didn’t see in the spring

Tulips, hyacinths, and narcissus

Coming to the meadow.

Poem with no name

I came to watch the garden

But the flowers had gone.

I passed the valleys

To reach the Spring

But Autumn had come.

I came from far away

My foot sound

Depressed the pavement.

The little bird woke up

Saluted the Autumn.

Oh, it had again

Reached late.

Honesty

The sound of rain

Was the sound of your honesty

Lost in the illusion of the wind.

Come slowly

Your honesty

Is the sound of rain.

Image

I donate

The freshness of my tears

Behind my eyelids to you.

Let me in the purest moment

Of visualization

Make your image

Inspire my whole being

And give the warmth of my tears

As a gift to your image.

I have blossomed in you

In the secret room of my heart

In this good imagination

And Spring atmosphere

Like a mailman of good news.

With happiness and laughter

You reached and I saw

A thousand smiling buds

Of my long wish on your lips.

And the dance of your

Fresh look

Germinates from the spring’s worry.

You’re a blossomed hope in me

And like a long poem

In the limitless garden of my heart.

You’re the roaming sound of the breeze

How can I give thanks

Your coming?

You’re a gift from creation to me

That was born in a hot summer

And the heat of the sun

Has burned me to the depth.

Now, I’ve become spring with you

And in you

Opened as blossom.

Death Trap

In the depth of a silence

I see your obscure image

And in the attacking chaos of illusion

Hear your voice.

You sit with me in the mirror’s dirt

And when I laugh

Appear on my lips.

Your voice Comes out the depth of my mouth

And your look

In my eyes

Is concealed.

Years ago

I drew you away

From my memories

And the ash remaining from our childhood

With my shaking hands

In a cold winter

Gave to the wind

To bury it

In the farthest

Place of earth.

I never repeated your memory

But you

Remained in me

In my eyes

My soul

And my voice

You continue living

With me.

I run away from you

Don’t know

Perhaps I will be able

To forgive you

But I will never revive

Your memory.

I wish

I thought you

Were looking hard

Only me in your far away memoirs

Among the layers of your memories.

I thought that I

The only bright light of your dark world

In this valley of separation

Giving light.

Now, I understand

That the whole road

In a breath

And in vain I covered.

I’m afraid

Of this vanity

Covering in vain

Of this perplexity

In the moments

Of loneliness.

I thought

My memory in you always

Is warm and pleasant like in the past

But alas

Up to the high beyond far away memoirs

Over the shoulder of every sorrow

In the happy land of young people’s days

Being with you

Was a very sweet happening.

Now

Your memory

Memory of those days

Burns me deep

Beyond the bitter moments of sadness.

And perhaps

Forgetting

Forgetting

Forgetting.

Spring came

The swallow came with coquetry as a companion to the tulip

The tulips grew on the plain and became

a bed for butterflies.

The garden has spread over her head a veil of blossoms

The creek is flew lightly to the door of buttercups.

The colored face of the water, mirror of the pennyroyals

Became a support for lilies, hyacinths, and basils.

Behind every murmur, there’s the song of the spirit and soul.

The instrument became happy maker, the beloved sang a good song.

Happiness, charm and passion flew into my heart

The spring fragrance came, the life started anew.

A calm night

The night with such unawareness

The night and such a relaxation

Plains like eternal light

Sleeping on the lap of a heavy snow

And the hasty passing of the roads

And passing through vain ignorance.

In the passage of the sunset

I saw the unhappy, bloody firebox of the horizon.

I saw the plain

Naked and tender

With thousands of charms

Resorting to the sun.

And I saw the breeze

How softly and lightly

Went escaping with spread skirt.

Night with such relaxation?

Went

But

The sun is still hurrying

Towards the gate of light.

You and I frightened hard

Passing along the roads one after the other.

Waiting

Expecting.

Letter

My letter will be delivered to you

The letter in which there is the story of

My heart and sadnesses.

On a piece of paper

I draw a beautiful parrot’s picture

Who remembers

All sadnesses

Sadnesses of the prison and the cage.

On a dry page

I write that the Spring

Was the decoration of the garden.

On a piece of wood

Which is a dead tree

I write

Whatever I have in the heart.

I draw the picture of a sitar

Which has for a long time

On a shelf covered with dirt

Slept lonely and cold.

I draw a cup of pure wine

Red as the blood of wild tulip.

I draw a drunken girl

Coming from the Spring’s flower garden

Having love in the head as Leila.

I draw a boat of illusion and imagination

With the sails all open.

I draw fish, sea and earth

I go by boat

To the end of the seas

To where two colors

Where two blues together

Are hugging hard.

I write on the water

The name of the happiness.

I draw the picture of a bird in the wind

With her wings all open

Her heart eager for flight

I go with her

Getting her companion forever.

I go to the top

Over a pretty cloud

Over that azure dome

I write the whole being.