Forough Farrokhzad

(5 January 1935 - 14 February 1967 / Tehran)

The Bird May Die...


I feel sad,
I feel blue.

I go outside and rub my cold fingers-
on the sleek shell of the silent night.

I see that all lights of contact are dark,
All lanes to relate us- are blocked.

Nobody will introduce me to the sun,
Nobody will take me- to the gathering of doves.

Keep the flight in mind,
The bird may die.


Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani, September 2006, Montreal

Submitted: Thursday, December 29, 2011

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