Poem
Ali Abdolrezaei
Mother me out!
The alley ended in the night
You were going too fast
And the child his words couldn’t keep in step with you
Those days up there in place of the moon
a woman sat squatting holding a pie
These days, Mother! I take it out on the apple
And each day I leave the house to fall in love
but to no avail
The alley ended in me
and tonight of the house I wanted to buy her
just the image of a small window remains open
See! I’m closed down
I have thrown out the windows of the house
Going to buy some salt for the wound I have
and matched together some jigsaw pieces of the sea
so you come back from afar
Gone from our mother’s hand,
following the end of the thread that passes through your
sewing machine we are . . . Fate!
we have not walked at all
we have only trampled up
these footpaths
© Translation: 2009, Abol Froushan
Publisher: POETRYMAG, Paris, 2009
Publisher: POETRYMAG, Paris, 2009
MOTHER ME OUT!
© 2009, Ali Abdolrezaei
Publisher: POETRYMAG, Paris
Publisher: POETRYMAG, Paris
Poems
Poems of Ali Abdolrezaei
Close
Mother me out!
The alley ended in the night
You were going too fast
And the child his words couldn’t keep in step with you
Those days up there in place of the moon
a woman sat squatting holding a pie
These days, Mother! I take it out on the apple
And each day I leave the house to fall in love
but to no avail
The alley ended in me
and tonight of the house I wanted to buy her
just the image of a small window remains open
See! I’m closed down
I have thrown out the windows of the house
Going to buy some salt for the wound I have
and matched together some jigsaw pieces of the sea
so you come back from afar
Gone from our mother’s hand,
following the end of the thread that passes through your
sewing machine we are . . . Fate!
we have not walked at all
we have only trampled up
these footpaths
© 2009, Abol Froushan
Publisher: 2009, POETRYMAG, Paris
Publisher: 2009, POETRYMAG, Paris
Mother me out!
The alley ended in the night
You were going too fast
And the child his words couldn’t keep in step with you
Those days up there in place of the moon
a woman sat squatting holding a pie
These days, Mother! I take it out on the apple
And each day I leave the house to fall in love
but to no avail
The alley ended in me
and tonight of the house I wanted to buy her
just the image of a small window remains open
See! I’m closed down
I have thrown out the windows of the house
Going to buy some salt for the wound I have
and matched together some jigsaw pieces of the sea
so you come back from afar
Gone from our mother’s hand,
following the end of the thread that passes through your
sewing machine we are . . . Fate!
we have not walked at all
we have only trampled up
these footpaths
© 2009, Abol Froushan
Publisher: 2009, POETRYMAG, Paris
Publisher: 2009, POETRYMAG, Paris
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère