The Last Street of Tehran

At the airport
The upshot of my hands now
Is this cramped land
It’s the size of the palms of my hands
Overlooking the slippery sunlight
And the sun is not on speaking terms with us
The dream coming from the Lut desert is moving my fingers
The wind stiffens my teeth
The whirlwind from the sandy desert
Is blowing through our house

Sticking the pieces of my face together to make me laugh?

How can I jump over your hands?
Precisely in the way you predicted: 
A huge grave
To put the longest night to sleep
The sleep has migrated from our eyelids
Has covered the river bank
Drenched our
Torn-up lips!

Sticking the pieces of my face together to make me laugh?

With scissors
They’re cutting something
Alphabets drooping on the soil
Vanished letters of our names
Had you forgotten them?
Through the zigzags
Firm and stiff
In the middle of the desert
Spread
You’ve locked up my mother’s breath!
Her footprints vanishing on the sand . . .

Sticking the pieces of my face together to make me laugh?
No . . . !
I won’t be back
I will not return to the last street of Tehran
I left a single shoe here
For you
To put on
And follow me!
An outline is forming on the horizon
It’s the size of my hand
Jumping higher than three feet
The precise size of my hand!

Tehran

Tehran