Maternal One

Poem by: Abotalib Mozafari

Translationed into Enlish by: Mir Hussain Mahdavi

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Hello mother

We all became disobedient

We were lost in the starvation year of sentiments

 

Hello mother, your infant grew up

But alas your cute kid turned to a wolf

 

Mother, we are all captivated by wizard’s horror

The given evil eye made us all immoral

 

Mother! Dispel the runic depravement of our behavior

Tide up a talisman of your kindness on our shoulders

 

Oh moon, we became tigers and you burned

We became gun owners and you burned

***

You have asked me that where is the moon, where are the stars

But I’m wondering where the expanse of the sky is

 

Where are the upper village’s maidens

Where are Golchehra, Goagha and golsha

 

Golsha blossomed, became young and finally gloomed (sullen)

And she became bride in the parched dissert of Taftan

 

Lucky Gochehra, she could enough pine

One night at border of homeland, she was shot to death

Her memento, just a red plume has remained and nothing else

But a broken honor has remained from us and nothing else

 

***

The globe now is cup of blood and no anything else

It’s a wound, a fire and insanity

 

Tonight the infernal attack of wind is spectacular

The throe of neck and steel is spectacular

 

Blown four different positions, running toward four sides

Now this is me,  like a fall-displaced windwondering in the world

 

Now this is me, two feet are swollen in the way

Now this is me, the traveler of this could blood earth

 

Let me wash myself in the spring of blood

Let me speak towards mountain

 

This mountain is a brother for my shoulders

Let me speak to my own brother

 

The mountain is miscarried of men’s ambushesand shouts

This grove has remained orphan for seven years in a row

 

Suddenly old cedars have been root out

The men of this lover tribe have been wrapped up in coffins

 

 

We sold the windy horse of pride, the sword and the bow

We sold the mouth and the fiery tongue

 

The nice shape bodies are addicted to bent statues

Wry men are addicted to the smile of gold

 

We’re setting slightly to ambush of our own selves

Hoping to see our last one is burning

 

We’re setting now to see the rage snakes

Appear from somebody’s drunken shoulder

 

Some people are planning to avow honor and dignity

To satisfy the golden hat of a ruling person

 

They died  just for the sake of  putting food on their tables

They haven’t seen a storm to become a believer

 

Finally, they have taken their clothes from this arena

Long live the glory of their throne and their luck

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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