Breaking down cultural barriers
Transposer une culture dans une autre par delà les barrières culturelles

Monday, 28 March 2011


I believe that on that night
my mother cried 
- what laughable clear mindedness in such a dead end opening

Why didn’t I pay attention ?

Each moment of happiness was aware that there would be only ruins left from your hands

And I did not pay attention

Up until that moment when
the window of the clock opened and the wretched canary came out to chime four times
Came out to chime four times

And I was impassioned
As impassioned as was this frail woman
Whose eyes were like the empty nest of Simurghs
And who, I believe, carried in the movement of her thighs, the pure vision of my happiness
towards the mattress of the night.

Will I ever again comb my hair in the wind ?
Will I ever again plant the flower bed with violets?
Will I ever again set more candle holders in the sky at the window pane?
Will I ever again dance on top of the drinking glasses?

And will I ever again long to hear the bell ring
at the door? 

Forough Farrokhzad (Cold Season)
translated from the original farsi by Sylvie M. Miller

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