by Gelareh Jamshidi
I’ve travelled many times into the broken cups of coffee,
And have drunk poems in the burned cafes.
I’ve played music on the collapsed bridges,
And have cried out in ruined places.
Whenever I took refuge
To the sun of far-off farms,
Horrifying scarecrows made me run away.
The sun yawned,
The cloud wailed,
And nothing remained in my eyes but burned wheat fields.
Those eyes which dragged me
To the seaside café,
Showed me a tranquil island.
We arrived there and our hair got wet.
our eyes were shining,
and our pilgrimage had been accepted.
When we left paddles on the shore,
Seagulls have fallen in love with our shoulders,
The rain has rose to sky,
Orison has come down from sky.
I said to your eyes:
I’ve found my holy land,
And distances are strange superstitions.
I’ve told that I’ll sew up the east and the west together,
And I’ll make a short path from the middle of the world,
To the heat of your neck,
So that I hang myself around it
And become the necklace of your patience years.
Your eyes have laughed,
White ships departure whistling,
All alleys of the world joined together,
Continents got hands in hands,
And oceans became rivers.
A little seagull,
Who takes seeds of kiss
From the width of your shoulder
And spreads the wing of journey
On the height of your arms….