Poems of Iranian Poet, Ahmad Reza Ahmadi
|Form and Combination, Translated
to English by M. Alexandrian
Abstract and prostitute words: eternal virgins.
And the meat grinder which turns with the hand of night,
Bloody words pour from its mouth:
The blood of meat, bird, tree,
A horse's blood.
Now night has died in the air trap,
And the meat grinder has stopped;
Words are heaving under the grinder,
And on the word "moon" a green vested ant is seated.
Words died at night
And the dish represented their collection
And the collection is empty of our words.
Morning approached the snow flower
The sun moved aside from behind the snow flower,
All these images were stamped on the snow flower,
The children's image who were far livelier than all the prophets.
And the sadness of the garden thawed the dreams of the Children of snow flower.
|From the Sleeping Earth...
|I won't speak to you
Of the earth sleeping in the rain.
For me, the praise of earth,
Is like disobeying the rain of your house
Since in winter also,
Near your window
I didn't tremble from the cold.
When I open the window
The shops hid in steam
No longer look ugly to me.
I'm indebted to you
For seeing my heart in the mirror.
You know my name,
And I cannot claim
|Again from the Sky...
|The sky is blue again,
It is covered by black lines
I must bestow you to scattered fragmented words.
A brown line on the plane tree
Belongs to the sun,
It is a full brown line
Resembling your tresses,
Which makes human survival on earth
|Among those odes
And the violets which were trampled
I need an ode
To mount a boat
And sail from the bombed town
To the river shore
And to carry the refugees wrapped in white bed-sheets
Into the house.
In the eternal sunset
The dead violets
On our palms.
The folk had gone to the other side of the river,
And the farms were watching us
We were out of business during war days.
A sketch of our bodies
Was printed on the wall
And it did not take long
For them to disappear
Under the shadow of falling bombs.
I was sitting
When the patient and humble bomb
Stepped into the cafe from the window.
|The loving roads
Led to the town through our hearts
The vegetable markets
- Void of celestial fruit -
Were drinking the cottages of fog.
Expecting the mosses of song
At the sunny paved road,
We were repeating the spring.
The loving roads
From our hearts up to the volcanoes of the leave,
To corridors bedecked with flowers, bushes and herbs,
To lengthy wars ready for peace,
Were asking the name of the night's latest offspring and blossoms.
In restaurants of silence
We had penetrated the age of intercession of odes,
Were melancholy people,
We had no opportunity to accept
The invitation of the wandering green oaks.
The loving roads
To the autumn of mornings of life
- Foggy and old -
And our childhood innocence
On their garments.