Another Birth (Tavalodi Digar), Forugh Farrokhzad

10 Aug

My whole being is a dark chant
which will carry you
perpetuating you
to the dawn of eternal growths and blossoming
in this chant I sighed you sighed
in this chant
I grafted you to the tree to the water to the fire.

Life is perhaps
a long street through which a woman holding
a basket passes every day

Life is perhaps
a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch
life is perhaps a child returning home from school.

Life is perhaps lighting up a cigarette
in the narcotic repose between two love-makings
or the absent gaze of a passerby
who takes off his hat to another passerby
with a meaningless smile and a good morning .

Life is perhaps that enclosed moment
when my gaze destroys itself in the pupil of your eyes
and it is in the feeling
which I will put into the Moon’s impression
and the Night’s perception.

In a room as big as loneliness
my heart
which is as big as love
looks at the simple pretexts of its happiness
at the beautiful decay of flowers in the vase
at the sapling you planted in our garden
and the song of canaries
which sing to the size of a window.

Ah
this is my lot
this is my lot
my lot is
a sky which is taken away at the drop of a curtain
my lot is going down a flight of disused stairs
a regain something amid putrefaction and nostalgia
my lot is a sad promenade in the garden of memories
and dying in the grief of a voice which tells me
I love
your hands.

I will plant my hands in the garden
I will grow I know I know I know
and swallows will lay eggs
in the hollow of my ink-stained hands.

I shall wear
a pair of twin cherries as ear-rings
and I shall put dahlia petals on my finger-nails
there is an alley
where the boys who were in love with me
still loiter with the same unkempt hair
thin necks and bony legs
and think of the innocent smiles of a little girl
who was blown away by the wind one night.

There is an alley
which my heart has stolen
from the streets of my childhood.

The journey of a form along the line of time
inseminating the line of time with the form
a form conscious of an image
coming back from a feast in a mirror

And it is in this way
that someone dies
and someone lives on.

No fisherman shall ever find a pearl in a small brook
which empties into a pool.

I know a sad little fairy
who lives in an ocean
and ever so softly
plays her heart into a magic flute
a sad little fairy
who dies with one kiss each night
and is reborn with one kiss each dawn.

Fez, Morocco.

9 Aug


Can the reward of goodness be anything but goodness?

Sura 55, Verse 60, The Holy Qur’an

This, Unspoken

22 Jun

Sometimes in the evening,
you at your stove, me at mine,
I imagine that we are living together.

I see us through the window,
me chopping, you stirring,
inches apart instead of miles.
I see us through the doorway,
you washing, me drying,
the cupboards stacked neatly,
the knives all in a row.

Would we be miles apart, I wonder —
me, only inches from your crook’d elbow,
your soapy hand.
And, if so, would we be
Comforted by the nearness made easy by distance?

Sometimes in the afternoon, —
the fan in the corner eyeing the room,
I wake in the circle of your uncomplicated arms
and ask myself if I ought never lie down
unless you are beside me.

I see us through the curtains,
me sleeping, you dreaming,
you sunk into sleep, me riding my uneasy dreams.
I see us in the moon’s light,
first my turning, then your shifting,
the moon hung in that spot where the big tree used to be.

Would we be dreaming to risk it, I wonder —
me, a mere hairsbreadth from speaking,
from wondering out loud.
And if we were, would they be
the dreams that come while we are sleeping,
or those that come while we are widest awake?

  

Robin Halevy

becoming

15 Jun

From the fabulous Rob Brezsny over at Freewill Astrology:

Rambo’s law was “To survive war, you must become war.” Here’s my corollary: “To survive love, you must become love.”

Kilimanjaro

23 May

I love the Noisettes and Shingai is one of the most bad-ass, gorgeous women out there. I love them even more when they throw some African vibes into the mix.

Inspired by a trip to Malawi, where they played at the Lake of Stars Festival:

A cool tribute to Miriam Makeba.

Forgetting something, Nick Flynn

20 May

Try this—close / your eyes. No, wait, when—if—we see each other / again the first thing we should do is close our eyes—no, / first we should tie our hands to something / solid—bedpost, doorknob—otherwise they (wild birds) / might startle us / awake. Are we forgetting something? What about that / warehouse, the one beside the airport, that room / of black boxes, a man in each box? I hear / if you bring this one into the light he will not stop / crying, if you show this one a photo of his son / his eyes go dead. Turn up / the heat, turn up the song. First thing we should do / if we see each other again is to make / a cage of our bodies—inside we can place / whatever still shines.

the voice of Umm Kulthum

15 May

photo taken in Paris.

‘Enta Omri’ (‘You are my life’):

Your eyes have taken me back to my lost days
They taught me to regret the past and its wounds
All that I saw before my eyes saw you was a life wasted
How could they count that as part of my life?

You are my life, with your light my dawn began