مهره و ساتن

"دوستت داشتم!"

کلمات ماضی را مضارع نمیکنند

می گویند، این یک دستور است

این همه بهار گذشته است

از آن بهاری که عاشقت شدم

دلم از زمان سر پیچی‌ می‌کند

کلام بهاره آینده را

نه جلو میاندازد, نه لغو می‌کند

می‌دانم, این هم یک دستور است

زمان دارد خودش را طی‌ می‌کند

بی‌ خیال دل بی‌ تاب من

مسافر زمان که شوی

انتظار تنها وسیلهٔ نقلیهٔ توست

ولی‌ دارد صبرم تمام میشود

هی‌ نشسته‌ام می‌گویم "دوستم بدار!"

اما این جمله بدون فعل خودم

امری نمی‌شود

درسم که تمام شود

با یک دست بوسه و بغل

گردنبند مهره و پیرهن ساتن

می‌آیم تا کنارت

بقیه موهایم را سپید کنم

پیر شوی شیرین سخنتر میشوی

و تو فقط تا بیایم

این دو هجا را تمرین کن

/ba/ /le/

میدانم زنم ولی

گوشهایم "نه" نمی‌شنوند

My Coy Afghan Doctor

Your fingers

And my trapezius

Your medical practice

An excuse

Between us

Your touch

And my neck

Your secrets

And my heart

Your stories of Herat

A night of trust

Between us

Your memories

And my chest

My adventures in Tehran

Your innocent laughter

My naughty serenity

The healing empathy

Between us

Your nostalgia

And my pain

Your sweet accent

Your Dari song

Your “Gardeshe Chashme Siah”

“The look in your black eyes”

Centuries of poetry

Between us

Your country

And mine

My body “wrapped in a dark dress

Like the moonlight through the silk of cloud”

My Afghan Doctor!

Your coyness

The damn border

Between us

Your body

And mine

  

Recomposition

My poems do not promise anything
I only compose my world as it happens.
Kiss me word by word
Touch me line by line
I do not need to mean, but to be, like a poem.

Read me in every context that melts on your tongue.
I speak the language of the moment.
Track me; I have no past.
Trust me, there is no future.
Do not disturb my imagery of the universe.

My red planet is a rolling stone
That does not revolve around any sun.
It crosses your system once in a blue moon
And does not obey the laws of your physic--
Not denying the chemistry between us!

Join me in my oval orbit
Ovulating stars that have no gravity
Galaxies that have no memories of big bang.
Do not try to swallow me like a black hole
Or you will always remain dark.

We can destroy the old world in six days
Take a rest on the seventh day
Then order a new genesis
For two infinite gods
Absolutely guilt free.

My cosmology has no chronology
It just happens at this moment.
I am not playing Emily Dickinson
Or Forough Farokhzad
I am just trying to recompose myself.

Common Language

Lines composed after recent

 explosions in Baghdad.

You don’t know me

You don’t look like me

Dressed in black

Or, I don’t look like you

No, not any more

I don’t even understand

Your language

But I pick up a word

“Enfejar” : explosion

Sounds so familiar

Even your screams

Like my aunt’s

When she had lost

Her young husband

--In our Holy Defense

Your Holy War--

A few months after marriage

Pregnant with their first child.

My cousin is a young man now

Young, like the sons you lost.

You don’t know me

You don’t see me

But I see you, so close

That I would have

          Hugged you

            And patted you

              And wept with you

If you were not on TV

Or I was in Bagdad

I don’t know you

I don’t know Arabic

I speak Persian

But I understand you

Your screams

            Your tears

                      Your eyes.

Agony

Speaks in a common language

We learned through war.

The Man Who Was Missing a Shoulder

The man who was missing a shoulder

One day, came in a red car which was

Yellow, showed me a Phantom who sang

Opera, and loved a woman who was too

Much, but felt he was half ugly, so the

Other robbed her heart before his touch.

The man who was missing a shoulder

One evening, brought me a silver lace

Through which I could see the Statue

Of Liberty, the Red Square, and the Last

Tango in Paris. He knew Loren, Bellucci,

Modigliani, Morricone, Mastroianni,

Bertolucci, and was hotter than Italians.

The man who was missing a shoulder

Never said “my smiles spread across

My face like a butterfly”. He did not

Want to play with the emotions that

I would not have if it was not for him.

The man who was missing a shoulder

One night, came to my sleep, and tried

To penetrate my iron dream. But the

Moment I submitted, he fell asleep.

The man who was missing a shoulder

One early morning, framed me like a

Picture, and kissed me twice, before

He left for the land of lakes and fog.

The man who was missing a shoulder

Left me missing a wing.

Letter 1

You have a world

You cannot share

With me--

Neither any woman

Nor any human being.

Your place is

Above the ground

Above the seas

Above the highest summit

Above the polar star: Setare Qotbi!

I am a woman

Made of love and complaint

Made of petals and thorns

Made of iron and flesh
Made of PMS and poems.

You are a man

Made of MS and aggression

Made of mania and depression

Made of phobia and ambition

Made of love more than I can bear.

My place is

In empty arms

In lustful eyes

In meaningless words

In strangers’ worlds.

I cannot fit

Into any world

Any more

After I left

Your unsharable world!

Esta Noche

Tonight

I will be the bride

Of the cherry blossoms of College Walk.

I will whirl to the chorus

Of the spring sparrows’ song.

Tonight

I will shoot an arrow in the dark.

I will give it a try

The nineteen eighties’ Modern Talk

“Love is ecstasy” and such stuff.

Tonight

I will crown myself with a garland of blossoms.

I will wear nothing but my shoes of fire.

I will walk on the edge of the night

Between remorse and flight.

Tonight

I will make you drunk

With my lips of Chilean Shiraz.

I will recite Neruda

Till the morning approaches;

“Es bueno, amor, sentir te cerca de mi, en la noche.”

Tonight

I will sleep surrounded by your arms

Like an island in the sea.

I will promise you by las estrellas y la luna

“Seras otra que vivira, manana.”

You and me.

El Recuerdo

¿Es esta nube en mi corazón,
Y estas gotas de lluvia en mis ojos,
O esto es el tiempo afuera?
No puedo decirles aparte.

Esta lluvia como el beso de la muerte en mi cara
Este día tan oscuro como la última noche en la tierra
Me recuerdan de la vez que me besaste por última vez
Y yo nunca te lo dije, que eras tan claro como la lluvia,
Ahora que me falta tu presencia tanto como la vida misma.

آمدی

آمدی جانم به قربانت

ولی‌ حالا …

چرا ندارد!

آمدن قباییست

که میاید به قدو بالایت

قربان زنگ خنده‌هایت!

هنوز تو گوشم هست.

ولی‌ دیگر هر چه بخندی

اهلیت نمیشوم.

فقط نمیدانم چرا

یکی‌ دو روزیست

این درس وامانده

این کتاب

هی‌ ورق ورق می‌خورد در با د!

I Forgive All Men

I forgive the man who
Loved me then left me.

I forgive the man who
Promised to marry me but never did.

I forgive the man who
Married me but beat me.

I forgive the man who
Healed my wounds then cheated on me.

I forgive the man who
Could play or lose, but not win.

I forgive the man who
Was tied to his mother’s apron strings.

I forgive the man who
Lied to me and cheated on his wife.

I forgive the man who
Fancied me a half man who could not decide.

I forgive the man who
Thought I was a mouth to be fed, and a load.

I forgive the man who
Treated me like a slave to be controlled.

I forgive the man who
Believed commitment was a rope, and got choked.

I even forgive the man who
One night, slept with my mom, and brought me to this world.

Catharsis

Catharsis

A sensation like penetration

Of an Iguana under your skin

Sizzling like Fajita in skillet in your seat

Salsa steps towards a Margarita kiss

“He is the frame, I am the pic.”

He is "a thousand kisses deep”.

He takes me to his arms

I “open like a lily to the heat”

He melts drop by drop

Like “another snowman” on my cheek.

I’m a battle inside, like an epic in Greek

He writes me, plays me, watches me

Then he leaves. I weep myself to sleep.

Something is lost in translation

Between mine and his catharsis.




Catarsis

Una sensación como de la penetración
De la Iguana debajo de la piel
Chisporrotear como fajitas en una sartén en tu asiento
Pasos de salsa hasta un beso Margarita
“Él es el marco, yo soy la imagen.”

El es “más que mil besos de profundidad.”
Él me lleva a sus brazos
“Abro como un lirio al calor”
Se derrite gota a gota
Al igual que “otro muñeco de nieve” en mi mejilla.

Soy una batalla interna, como un poema épico en griego
Él me escribe, me juega, me mira
Luego se va. Lloro hasta quedarme dormida.
Algo se pierde en la traducción
Entre la mía y su catarsis.

Penelope Unbound

She set sail for the voyage of bliss
Leaving her husband knitting and unknitting.
To his highness, sadistic and self-seeking
To his golden cage, she will never regress.

The ocean is rough but the wind is blowing
To the direction of sunny days.
She has her oars and learns rowing
When there is a will, there are many ways.

She stops at many islands
Where naked men dance and sing.
In the absence of a husband
Men are kinder than a king.

Soon she will find her promised land
To build her future with her own hand.
She will run wild like a horse free.
She will stand proud like a tall tree.

However the ocean is rough
And life is rougher
However the journey is tough
Penelope’s tougher.

Persistent Date

All night he talked

About his glorious ancestors

And his inglorious mom

Those who were members

Of the parliaments of thieves

And this one who cooks like a royal chef

Told me of his masters

Of engineering in manipulation

And his PhD in accumulation

Of wealth in Tehran, Dubai and Westchester

His project of getting NASA retired to the moon

But did not ask about me, a single question

Except one: “Shall we call it a date?”

It sounds like a funeral fruit to my ears

Served over my dead body.

“Shall I have a kiss?” his eyes glitter.

I put a purple one in his palm.

“It’s dark. It’s healthier,” I giggle.

He stayed where I left him at the gate

A statue of a waving man sending me e-mails

After e-mails about his achievements.

Oh, I have never had such a persistent date.

Trucks of Amsterdam Avenue

The trucks are the people of the night

They have a date under my building

They dance, tire to tire, ring to ring

To the rhythm of their engines.

On the slippery asphalt

On the slope of Amsterdam

Their breaks whisper things

Their wheels squeak

Though all the lights are red

And all the cops are awake

Against the snow and fug

They keep their affairs.

They wink their headlights

Get excited and honk

Then drive on reckless

Leave a poet sleepless.

McLove's

It is fast, easy, and cheap
It is served in a three course meal:
Coffee, cocktail and kiss.

First meet in a café
Grab a cup of cappuccino and a latte.
Put all your knowledge
Of poetics, politics, and paintings in display
From Plato to Machiavelli and Monet.

Next meet in a bar
With mellow yellow light
And Salsa music live.
Order mint Mojitos
With extra rum and lime.
Toast to “tonight!”
And drink gazing in the eyes.

Finally, it’s dinner time
When the moon is full
And the weather is nice.
Go to a sushi bar
Drink Saki in tiny cups
Have vegetable tempura
With brown rice on the side.
Well, the more vegetarian
The more sophisticated after all.
Then go for a stroll
Walk for a few blocks
Hold hands and don’t talk
Say good-bye with a kiss
Or the case is dismissed.