Azita Ghahreman; 3 poems

 Translated by Omid Ghahreman

"I Had No Home"

Earth became the game-board

With crossroads of lines

A triangle that has leaning peaks to fall

On this dead horse

Whichever path you took I was lost

I had no home

A suitcase with high porticoes

Four gowns and a tree

A root to wind in polar day

A sky with tight zippers

Folding cities

Cloudy charm

A reminiscence of the girlish black eyebrow

In heavy rain

Then you kneeled down to see

Moon a hole in the sky

So wherever it's possible to be lost

She would change the poems route

And turn the dream back to front

It was only your eye

That wrote the death lingering

Or the beast would have eaten my hand

And April moles

Wouldn't take the wound seriously

Eight years of age

Have grown thin

Like a plum wicker

And loneliness has a small beak

Whichever way you came form

I had returned

Sometimes love was dragging me

Sometimes I was dragging love with my claws into her

And this room departs

With a lunatic behind the windowpanes

To broaden the laughter

Summer with rotten white cover

I've sold the Nietzsche

The antique porringer and the sugar bowl

And the violet dress in the wardrobe

Had been worn-out.

I had no home

And up through the seam of this running

The needle was jumping

You were not the cloud's tail

And wind will not follow the lozenges

I won't be found lower than God's hollow

More radiant than the dove

That I gave birth to

And flew away from me

Black words lift

The woman's wild mouth

A mountain of fallen borders

A white tooth in the voice of grass

Did the wind's course

Reach your home

Amidst these lines?

"The Boat That Brought Me"

Behind the face that resembles yours

Old names disappear

Blood has crumpled snap-shots

And the copper bird's wind

Seems to have worn my desert

Over my pull-over.

I'm not naked

Sometimes words are lost in my coughing

And so is the frothy moon

In the glass

This journey always spinned round my tongue

And my veins hid nothing from death

To draw calligraphic footsteps

Summer had confessed me

This crumpled green fuzz on fingers of ice

Wave was beautifully ebbing and flowing like love

Sometimes I miss the boat

That brought me here

And here before winter's eyelids

My witnesses are this time-worn sky

And a suitcase that hides my blue profile.

"Sunday Becomes Lost Here"

Wind reveals the environs of running more lucidly

Light has secret balconies

Sunday becomes lost here

From the dress that has no choice to fly

From among all those levels and lines and icons

Only the thin eyebrows

Wrote a short example

Room's vigilance walks at nights

Behind the rustling of the papers

I'm stupefied like a woman

Who perpetually takes the little girl from water

And she slips back in again

You'll believe it as soon as you blink

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The Forth

Azita Ghahraman

 Translated by Roshanak Bigonah

Do I resemble you more?

Or she, whose hands were dedicated to words

And her fingers, stained from the green ink

That would give her secret away?

Do you resemble me more?

Or does she who dialed the numbers

Look like you more

Or me, whose hands were dedicated to words?

Does she who is sitting on this chair

Wearing sheer black stockings

Resemble me more?

Or you, who have run through all streets

With black shoes?

Does the woman who has shaved her head

And is in love with the ward’s doctor

Resemble me more?

Or you, who have turned the mirror?

Which one of us

Me or the third one who has erased her face

Or the forth one

Whose hands were dedicated to the wind?

Translated by Roshanak Bigonah

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