Women poets
On my desk books frown
-among them Penguin's Women Poets
-it whispers in ear; revealing a secret:
-compilers, editors even though innocents
-are simple idiots,
-echo shouts: stupid and racist! ! !
I read time of Attār, Rūdakī
-encounter a lady, unseen in Penguin's
-her name is: Rābi'a, is Balkhi
-her poems are mostly destroyed, as was she!
-they blow mind and heart, and one is:
-Dear wind of night times
-take message to my love
-tell that moon of my life
-his magnet stole heart and my mind
-like Ali in Kheibar, with his sword
-He is fish so am I
-both in pan are fried
-he knows not that leaving
-with his love left behind
-turned and whirled my body
-it is now twisted, I am curled
-and waiting full of hope
-for coming of our day,
-even a single hair of his head
-can bring back merry, joy's message
She insists, talks with wind
-tell my love no one gains
-from hurting lover
-to kill me is enough
-to come by and pass by
She speaks with dawn's bird
-love kills me and love hurts
-it is hope that keeps me
-love is the perseverance
-infiltrates through walls
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem