Two poems by Mohammad Moafaqi
Mohammad Moafaqi
Translate by Ata Miraki
The soldier who once tried to kill himself
returned from the battlefield
to became a postman then
always brought me your letters
the postman one day tried to kill himself
smelled so much of your hands
to became a luckless poet
to brought the word “you” into poetry
for the first time
The poet who once wanted to kill himself
now he’s me
a lucky me
that my house is full of your letters
the smell of the postman’s sweat and
the sorrows of a depressed soldier
for your return in the midst of all these graves
to bring us news of
those who are not bullets of war
not severe torture inside the cell
not a cyanide pill
even cancer
didn’t kill them
rather, one day
they died in waiting
and longing for a letter
from a loved one.
*
I regret why I didn’t miss
your hands in all the languages of the world
why against all your cries,
I did not become a song
with the voice of the wind
that means a handkerchief
circumambulating your tears.
I regret that I did not fill
any blank with poetry and missing you
or why did I forget
to say for your hug:
a homeland of silk and miracles.
