Forugh Farrokhzâd - I BELIEVE MY MOTHER CRIED ON THAT NIGHT

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