Three short poems by Parwiz Zabih Gholami

by: Parwiz Zabih Gholami

Translator: Daliya Raouf

I came from inside

I came from inside,

inside the stones,

inside the trees,

inside the birds.

The sun stares at me like a dead man

whom the dogs had found his laughters in the earthquake.

Who knows

how cruels is outside.

My head is a window.

And my body is a dark cellar,

which an alchoholic old man

settles in, and

counts his wine bottles.

Who knows

how crule is outside.

The hospital

they put the crows’ beaks in casts,

and sew the moon to the window.

I lit a cigarette,

but I am dying.

Rubbish picking

Sun is a television,

which is broken and yout put it beside your front door.

The birds are dustbin bags,

which are fulled with the tissue papers after your wepping.

The clouds are old blouse and pants

that you threw them away.

The trees are cigarette ends,

which their fruits are your lip prints.

Without you nothing is new…

Even the time

is an old homeless man,

who picks the rubbish

and sell it to the dead men.