Parisa Saranj 

Translator

Your warm piss on the ground         wasn’t fear!

Bullet, the end of sentence.

Silence slips down     the steep hills of the embankment

You are not here

And the sun passes through             your quiet eyelids.

Life a box of my memories

Inside it, I’m tossed around and logic?

I don’t know, perhaps          the sweat on my forehead from trying.

(There is no logic beyond the embankment, sir)

First comes the ash, then the fire

wisdom          the fire under the ash

I don’t know how I come up with these things

But the dream           sweet wisdom of nothingness

(A stranger A stranger)

Sir, move aside          Let me finish these bastards

Brother, these are captives               You can’t kill a man in chain

Sir, this is war            Only graves for these dirty dogs!

Bullet, the end of sentence…

The footprint of an Iraqi soldier is in the snow            No

The foot         of the Iraqi soldier is left behind

I used to fill the ants’ nest with water.

By the way     the sick soldier, before death

Which one of the tanks was it that coughed

to clear your throat?

I went to the frontline          (I went to the frontline)

I saw the enemy       (I saw the enemy)

I was startled             (I was startled)

I pulled a dagger    (I pulled a dagger)

I said, “Coward!”       (I said, “Coward!”)

This is Iran                  (This is Iran)

Land of the brave     (Land of the brave)

Who is tired?

Ene     me!

Who is tired?

I was tired     and dusty shadows

covered the barbwires

Where did the road to Jerusalem pass through?

Nowhere near my house!

I didn’t hear much    but screams of          stray tanks!

War was a certain wetness on the road

Water.             No.     It was a mirage.

I stood my ground and left exhaustion behind            

For Freedom,

I had to shoot a plane down

(Oh, you brave man. You lucky man

You great man           if you end up in the heavens

                                       Please pray for us)

I wasn’t brave             I wasn’t great!

I was a hand in the Sahand frigate crew

Behind the scenes    I was crying

over my fiancé’s picture.

Forecast:        Steam will rise with a delay

I had ruined death

And grave      the ditch under my feet

Where do I find the answer to all these questions?

I was defending myself

And the last target                 was me.

In other words, I’m carrying my corpse over my shoulders

And I can say with certainty

That the moon was shining brightly in my thoughts

Listen soldier             you must be a missile

An anti-tank missile               a killing machine

You must spell war backward

But sir             if I,      then?!

Listen soldier

A mission means      lying in your grave before the battle even starts

                                       Saying your prayers 

                                       Running without even noticing you are

                                       Feeling a warm pleasure without realizing you

Martyrdom means   a sun that burns the sky!

The Sahand frigate’s crew

You shut        the airplane               down

The sunset    your bruises!

I’m talking to you, the Sahand frigate’s crew

You are now picture frames

street names

And my beard             has turned gray            waiting for your footsteps!

You have become a drop of sweat

On the temples of the sky

before                        the moon

stains it.

I stich my daughter’s socks
                        I am a woman
Sometimes I am a doll
Sometimes, for a few days
I am the dirty shirt     stuck to my body!
I am angry       like the veins on my mother’s neck.
I shake              like my daughter’s shoulders when she cries!
I dance alone
In the mirror, I dance with my first love who is no more
While our memories cry on my lap.

I am a nightingale
I am my daughter’s school bag          the burnt dinner
The vacuum cleaner 
And if the power is out
In the dark, many bright feet will shine in me!
I am a custodian!        I am a centipede!       God knows what I am!
Don’t think I’m dirty               because I am not
The blood stains on my shirt             are because I’ve murdered myself
Don’t think I’m dirty               because I am not, but…
Let me be frank
In me, dirty men with fancy cars      go for a spin!
I am a horn     I am a car         I am the heads turned to watch me
I am!
I am a chair!                 I’m down for any suggestions!
Don’t fret         I am also a bed!
I don’t feel pain           Like you say, I am out of luck
The sound of a slap echoes on my face
The scars on my shirt!
My buttons are lost
I am patient like the Arab girls
I am buried alive!
Any face that looks like mine                          is a wayward!
A sigh sighs in me
How could I know what you know about me?
Do you know why my high heels screech on the stairway?              Why?

Sometimes a holy shrine is in me
When I cry,     I am a prayer rug        I am my mother
I accuse you,   I am my father
A few blows come down on my face…
My mother’s teeth     become keys                on all the locks of the world
The only thing that seems to come my way          is misery.       I am miserable

I am a tomb stone!
I always live among the wailings
And everyday
Fingers of triumphant men
run       over my corpse 
I’m the one they point to!
I have thousand names         I answer to any name I hear!
I am Luna         Star      Dawn
I don’t sleep at night
A thousand more names        I am
Except sometimes in my birth certificate and in my mother’s dreams,
I am Angel!
Aren’t I?          

The brown of your eyes,
are the stains on the coffee cup
this unfinished moon and
the waves against the body of the cup.
If I follow this line,
 will I reach the pencil of your eyes or
 a broken mirror in which the sun shines?

This white volume
must be an empty presence of the mirror,
that does not repeat your beauty!
As far as the eyes see
night floats on the water
and this numb boat must have been
brought here by the fat sail!
the pulse of the thin moon in the hands of the sea
the sound of seagulls in the ears of the watchful stars!
the anxious heart of the sea
the fisherman’s lost key and
a fortune untold
…
This lock is choking on a key
and I bury my yawn
in my mouth!

Of the deep wounds
a small scar remains
Of your eyes…
what can I say?
the imprint left on my bedcovers
is the memory of your elbows

How it tastes like you
the wine I didn’t drink
How many sad words have
settled at the bottom of this cup
in front of me
How much pain
the map on the wall carries?
the map has a sea, but it doesn’t move

without you…
the island is but
a curved sorrow
and I’m under the thumb tack
thinking about you!

My heart
is anxious
like the sound of the river.
and your hands that
don’t know how to fall in love!
After I descend these words,
I can ask
How?
How?
The fortune teller comes to
look for a name in my eyes …

The little rug,
a cup of tea and
I, on the bed
 are waiting!

Black means night
and a dark alley means
your bright voice after we say goodbye
whether I will be or not
every evening,
my dreams will
kiss you in that alley!
White means hospital
and the thin blades of the fan mean
the world spins around me
You are not here so I
could wash the feet of the night
and wrapped in a white blanket, I
pretend to be dead