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  • Date :
  • 2/22/2014


sohrab sepehri

Still evening,

When the flock of starlings –

Flied away from the memory of the pine.

But the core of the tree remained wholesome.

As the last bird escaped,

The innocence of the landscape –

Landed down, all, on my shoulders.

Now, speak!

Speak to me! My promised lady!

The faithful mistress of my darkness!

Beneath the changeless kindness –

Of the branches of the breeze!

Hand me over, again,

My childhood!

Oh you!

The colorful sister of evolution!

Amidst the opaque ponds of night –

Talk, talk to me! Take, take my pulse!

Refill my veins with the fluid gentleness –

Of your wits, and the fondness of your light!

Walk me,

Walk me to the gray garden of the pale tales –

Beyond the shimmery fence of the vineyard!

Tell me, tell me about the lost words and tongues,

Sketch them on the dim face of this board –

Made of sand and dust.

Smooth my bemused mind!

Soothe my heart!

Spread, spread, all along –

The dry, dusty road to the void –

And the salty plains of boredom,

The smoothness of water –

And the spice of rain.

And then, cast your spell!

Cast the sweet spell of last night,

All over the silky texture of the moss.

To stay, all the way


When the night arrives –

In the eeriest of the dreams,

The road to the words, will be cleared.

And, the breeze will have a say.

The coming night –

The apple, fallen, on the earth –

Will whirl all the way, to the place –

The forebear of the night secretly dwells.

And there, a mirage will be laid to rest –

Underneath the collapse –

Of its roof.

The night to come,

The sight will come face to face –

With the dim and dull lot of the gardens.

And the boldest coils of an ivy –

Will besiege the light–tower of a divine.

Then, the unsaid will step into the light,

And the canon of the age will be expelled –

By the roots, from its shelter under the ground.

In the night to come,

Right inside the word of dawn –

There will be a sun –

To rise.




چند عدد سار

دور شدند از مدار حافظه كاج‌.

نيكي جسماني درخت بجا ماند.

عطف اشراق روي شانه من ريخت‌.

حرف بزن‌، اي زن شبانه موعود!

زير همين شاخه هاي عاطفي باد

كودكي ام را به دست من بسپار.

در وسط اين هميشه هاي سياه

حرف بزن ، خواهر تكامل خوشرنگ‌!

خون مرا پر كن از ملايمت هوش .

نبض مرا روي زبري نفس عشق

فاش كن‌.

روي زمين هاي محض

راه برو تا صفاي باغ اساطير.

در لبه فرصت تلالو انگور

حرف بزن ، حوري تكلم بدوي !

حزن مرا در مصب دور عبادت

صاف كن‌.

در همه ماسه هاي شور كسالت

حنجره آب را رواج بده‌.


ديشب شيرين پلك را

روي چمن هاي بي تموج ادراك

پهن كن‌.

By Sohrab Sepehri

Source: Iran Daily

Other links:

The Water’s Footsteps



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