Poem
Fatemeh Ghahremani
Period
A tear drop alightsFrom a car that crosses my eye
And stops
Behind a light that embodies red
And then drops
into bumps and coughs
And pulls a hand break
Stop!
Like a light that turns amber
When the street is quiet
If I don't run away
In these high heels
To the last light
Someone would want to give me a ride
With hands that go green
like a bud in my eyes
And then blow cigarette smoke
Into my eyes
What a passengerless destiny
My poor tears
Are shot again
My eyes
Got their period again
© Translation: 2017, Abol Froushan
پریود
پریود
پیاده میشود اشک
از ماشینی که در چشمم عبور
و مىايستد
پشت چراغی که تنش قرمز
بعد هم میافتد
توی سرفه و دستانداز
دستی میکشد
ایست!
مثل چراغی که وقتي نيست
قرارش میدهد توی زرد
با کفشی که قد میکشد
اگر فرار نكنم
سوارم میکند
و تا آخرين چراغِ
دستش را مثل غنچهای
سبز مىکند در چشمهام
كه با دود سیگارش
باز پیادهام كند توی چشم
چه سرنوشت بىسرنشينى!
بیچاره اشکهام
تیر میخورد
از ماشینی که در چشمم عبور
و مىايستد
پشت چراغی که تنش قرمز
بعد هم میافتد
توی سرفه و دستانداز
دستی میکشد
ایست!
مثل چراغی که وقتي نيست
قرارش میدهد توی زرد
با کفشی که قد میکشد
اگر فرار نكنم
سوارم میکند
و تا آخرين چراغِ
دستش را مثل غنچهای
سبز مىکند در چشمهام
كه با دود سیگارش
باز پیادهام كند توی چشم
چه سرنوشت بىسرنشينى!
بیچاره اشکهام
تیر میخورد
كه پریود شود چشمهام
© 2017, Fatemeh Ghahremani
Poems
Poems of Fatemeh Ghahremani
Close
Period
A tear drop alightsFrom a car that crosses my eye
And stops
Behind a light that embodies red
And then drops
into bumps and coughs
And pulls a hand break
Stop!
Like a light that turns amber
When the street is quiet
If I don't run away
In these high heels
To the last light
Someone would want to give me a ride
With hands that go green
like a bud in my eyes
And then blow cigarette smoke
Into my eyes
What a passengerless destiny
My poor tears
Are shot again
My eyes
Got their period again
© 2017, Abol Froushan
Period
A tear drop alightsFrom a car that crosses my eye
And stops
Behind a light that embodies red
And then drops
into bumps and coughs
And pulls a hand break
Stop!
Like a light that turns amber
When the street is quiet
If I don't run away
In these high heels
To the last light
Someone would want to give me a ride
With hands that go green
like a bud in my eyes
And then blow cigarette smoke
Into my eyes
What a passengerless destiny
My poor tears
Are shot again
My eyes
Got their period again
© 2017, Abol Froushan
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère