Poem 1 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

For Neda

My girl
it was their tradition
to bury you alive
you were killed
a nation gets buried alive.

See how calm he lays his head on the pillow
the one who got money from your death
eats halal dinner.

you were just standing
and watching optimistically
to return to your home
but never again you will see your small room my girl
and plenty of pleasant future thoughts
wing on its door and walls.

Like a halal chicken, you were trapped
an astonished chicken
that was searching her hunter's face anxiously
you were trapped
like a cluster of grapes
that was crushed under feet
and is turning into forbidden wine.

Who are these
hidden behind windows, on rooftops
who are these in the dark
that bark
with the voice of a housebird.

They killed you my girl
they killed you
so there would be one less person
but how do you get multiplied.

Oh my dear Neda
the red rose that had grown on your neck
opened
spread
and clothed the map of Iran in the humming of its petals
and those who are raising their voice*
are nightingales
millions seating around a flower
and calling your name.
Does it mean it's possible you don't hear their voice which sings for you
does it mean they closed your window so you won't even hear the sound of your own victory
see how calm he lays his head on the pillow
the one who eats the halal prey.

*Neda means voice or calling. This line can both mean those who are raising their voice or those who have gave(lost) Neda

Poem 22 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

No symbols or allusions
in between
Newspapers all get corrected
lines (are)
rows of crushed roach corpses inside publishing houses
images
Goya's painting
on newspaper stand's shelf
people
seem to stare
at blank newspapers
and review
their hopes and what has remained in their hearts

July 2009

Poem 6 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

Yaghoob Barvayeh was my student

With a robe and a cane death wings towards you
Run away Yaghoub Barvayeh run away

Glitter of joy in your eye
won't let you see the face of death
Yaghoub Barvayeh run away

You had gone to the street in praise of life
Death they gifted you
Run away
Yaghoub Barvayeh run away

July 2009

Poem 16 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

Have we mistaken
On this bench
under these pine trees you were sitting
wasn't it you waving your hand
and cinder of sorrow was pouring from your hums

Are we mistaken
that you too one day have seen this house, street, bakery, market
But why did you turn into a candle mass
on the wooden bench, under the trees
and above your head, from the strands of your hair
a silver smoke is raised

July 2009

Poem 14 / 22 Elegies in the Month of Tir

Now my breakfast is you.

The piece of cheese that I take like a bullet to mouth
is the foam of the sea
when your mouth remained open
like the mouth of a little fish on the coast,
As I break a piece of bread
I touch pieces of your shirt.

All over my day is you.

solely at nighttime
like an invisible leopard
I stand on a silent valley
and I see the cardboard moon glowing
and I hear the crickets
muttering in their underground workshops
and secretly, sewing their little chirps
into an armor
like many fugitive soldiers
in a jailed streamlet
on a spring midnight

July 2009