By Sheida Mohamadi
Translated by Dr. Farideh Prourgiv
Read by Catherine Coleman
Shadow of leaves of poplars on the moon
scent of mud and damp making sleepy passage through
tonight all wires will poke out of the windows
talk to me then.
This fragrant pause suits my birds
you know the language of these half sewn pants
you know how to speak through the creased linen of body and
limbs of acacias.
Come and feel these palpitating roots of this stump
tonight I must hear the sun through the dust of your eyes
the voice of 'me'
talk to me
to these walls
to the warm pause of this clock.
On those leaves glaring at the moon
me with the moon in the stream
with words giddy from tongues of fire
I must rush home tonight from your voyage
to the eternity twinkling afar.
The swamp of this bed has mesmerizing pull Ships sink
mouths turn to ash and smoke
poor city poor city poor city and all these
candles in the wind
come and touch the eyes of this house
my hands gazing at these distant voices
those faint glows remembering my name in forgotten dreams.
You know the language of holes and moths
you know how to set peaks alight with the bones of this city
come and touch my sparkling wings
I want to write something like myself.