Gedicht
Abol Froushan
There is no death in a death
There is no death in a death that shadows meor ships into my body like a woman who denies me the thrill of
not having her.
The place is the smell, the mystery of the first woman
morning coffee, opening the window
yhe father hanging the sea on the wall.
Anyone stricken by love calls me
so my enemies’ butterflies can increase.
Any girl who touches her breasts so two birds can scar my heart
will shrink away.
. . .
I love love when love recedes
I love the white lily
when it withers in my hand and grows in my song –
wait for me,
my song.
© Translation: 2010, Abol Froushan
Publisher: Poetry Mag, Paris, 2010
Publisher: Poetry Mag, Paris, 2010
THERE IS NO DEATH IN A DEATH
© 2010, Abol Froushan
Publisher: Poetry Mag, Paris
Publisher: Poetry Mag, Paris
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THERE IS NO DEATH IN A DEATH
There is no death in a death
There is no death in a death that shadows meor ships into my body like a woman who denies me the thrill of
not having her.
The place is the smell, the mystery of the first woman
morning coffee, opening the window
yhe father hanging the sea on the wall.
Anyone stricken by love calls me
so my enemies’ butterflies can increase.
Any girl who touches her breasts so two birds can scar my heart
will shrink away.
. . .
I love love when love recedes
I love the white lily
when it withers in my hand and grows in my song –
wait for me,
my song.
© 2010, Abol Froushan
Publisher: 2010, Poetry Mag, Paris
Publisher: 2010, Poetry Mag, Paris
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