شعر_فروغ_فرخزاد_تولدی_ديگر#

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RfqZLWFEyg

4:27

بعد از تو ما هر چه زندگی‌ کردیم ، در فضایی از دروغ و نیرنگ گذشت ، بعد

از تو خورشید مرده است و نام آن چیز که از دلها گریخته ، عشق است...

Another Birth Translations by Ismā'il Salāmi My entire soul is a murky verse Reiterating you within itself Carrying you to the dawn of eternal burstings and blossomings In this verse, I sighed you, AH! In this verse, I grafted you to trees, water, and fire Perhaps life is A long street along which a woman With a basket passes every day Perhaps life Is a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch Perhaps life is a child returning home from school Perhaps life is the lighting of a cigarette Between the lethargic intervals of two lovemaking Or the puzzled passage of a passerby Tipping his hat Saying good morning to another passerby with a vacant smile Perhaps life is that blocked moment When my look destroys itself in the pupils of your eyes And in this there is a sense Which I will mingle with the perception of the moon And the reception of darkness In a room the size of one solitude My heart The size of one love Looks at the simple pretexts of its own happiness, At the pretty withering of flowers in the flower pots At the sapling, you planted in our flowerbed At the songs of the Canaries Who sings the size of one window. Ah This is my lot This is my lot My lot Is a sky, which the dropping of a curtain seizes from me My lot is going down an abandoned stairway And joining with something in decay and nostalgia My lot is a cheerless walk in the garden of memories And dying in the sorrow of a voice that tells me: "I love Your hands" I will plant my hands in the flowerbed I will sprout, I know, I know, I know And the sparrows will lay eggs In the hollows of my inky fingers I will hang a pair of earrings of red twin cherries Round my ears I will put dahlia petals on my nails There is an alley Where the boys who were once in love with me, With those disheveled hairs, thin necks and gaunt legs Still think of the innocent smiles of a little girl Who was one night blown away by the wind There is an alley which my heart Has stolen from places of my childhood The journey of a volume along the line of time And impregnating the barren line of time with a volume A volume conscious of an image Returning from the feast of a mirror This is the way Someone dies And someone remains No fisherman will catch pearls From a little stream flowing into a ditch I Know a sad little mermaid Dwelling in the ocean Softly, gently blowing Her heart into a wooden flute A sad little mermaid Who dies with a kiss at night And is born again with another kiss at dawn