lies a heap of snow.
Above in pallor,
flies a flock of crows .
-------------- & ----------------------
somebody said -
the passage means -
a lonely exile,
only with the breeze,
and its chimes,
or the travellers,
and their daze,
or with the spiral of the ivies,
fleeing the yard .
And I,
gloomy,
in the rain,
behind the socked glass.
This is my room
Here I write,
of the walls .
There are the two walls,
And of the few passers.
Somebody despairs,
somebody knits,
another counts,
and somewhere , someone reads ...
I write .
------------------- & -------------------------
Somebody hear -
Life means: the sighting,
of a starling,
leaving the sky.
Tell me what is wrong ?
You still have the sun,
and the children,
coming next month,
Still you have the thought of the dove
you watched last night !
Somebody died.
Still , the breads are good.
Still water falls down.
Still, the horses drink
from the same lake.
----------------- & -----------------------
Still,
the drops move to the rivers.
And the snow slides on the shoulders-
of silence .
And , time still flies above
the shivering spine of the jasmine .
- Sohrab Sepehri .
Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani,
December 2008, Montreal
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