Inner Collapse
دسامبر 21st, 2007
Fereydoon Moshiri is an Iranian poet. To be accurate, i can call him a legend in Iranian recent literature history. I think he passed away a few years ago, but his poems will remain for ever in our memory. he was one of the icons in modern Iranian recent poets…Below, is one of his beautiful poems which i found its translated version. my Iranian visitors can find its original version after that….hope you like it
Inner Collapse
No one will believe it
– but I see with my eyes,
that standing among us
a man is dying without a cry.
he’s not ill or awaiting the gallows
unwounded by sword unpierced by arrows
no one can explain this death without a cry.
his lips are laughing, his hands are warm,
his countenance is happy and
you imagine his memories are free from sorrows.
–But, my eyes see a flame
as it sweeps across an open field
the rusty streak creeping
over a peeling mirror’s face
so his body is decaying form within
like an old mud fortress
from whose cracking towers and arches
bricks fall too the ground
He’s craving in
in the silence of death,
and without a cry.
Who can conceive of such a death?
Is there someone who can explain it to us?
I don’t know.
In the dizziness of this man’s inner collapse,
What he sees in these, our small dark souls,
What he sees in these, our unfeeling hearts,
What things he sees in these dreadful nights.
I don’t know.
Look!
his lips are laughing, his hands are warm
his countenance happy and
No one sees his sorrow,
Like waxen tears welling up round
The neck of a waning candle,
Like dry flowers losing their petals
He’s lost in his thoughts.
The dull sound of a bird striking
Its wings on the ground
آوار درون
کسی باور خواهد کرد
- اما من به چشم خویش میبینم
که مردی –پیش چشم خلق – بی فریاد میمیرد
نه بیمار است،
نه بردار است،
نه در قلبش فروتابیده شمیشیری،
نه تاپر در میان سینه اش تیری
کسی را نیست بر این مرگ بیفریاد تدبیری.
لبش خندان و دستش گرم،
نگاهش شاد،
تو پنداری که دارد خاطری از هر چه غم آزاد،
- اما من به چشم خویش میبینم
به آن تندی، که آتش میدواند شعله در نیزار،
به آن تلخی، که میسوزد تن آئینه در زنگار،
دارد از درون خویش میپوسد!
بسان قلعهای فرسوده
- کز طاق و رواقش خشت میبارد،
فرو میپاشد از هم،
در سکوت مرگ،
بی فریاد!
چنین مرگی که دارد یاد؟
کسی آیا نشان از آن تواند داد؟
نمیدانم،
که این پیچیده با سرسام این آوار،
چه میبیند در این جانهای تنگ و تار،
چه میبیند در این دلهای ناهموار،
چه میبیند درین شبهای وحشتبار،
نمیدانم.
ببینیدش
لبش خندان و دستش گرم
نگاهش شاد
نمیبیند کسی اما ملالش را
چو شمع تندسوز اشک تا گردن، زوالش را
فرو پژمردن باغ دلاویز خیالش را
صدای خشک سر بر خاک سودنهای بالش را
کسی باور نخواهد کرد.
No one will believe it
Posted in Iran, Literature, Poem | 2 Comments »
