Returning Home

Poem by: Mohammad Kazem Kazemi

Translated into English by: Mir Hussain Mahdavi

 

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I will go in the warm breath of the road at dusk

I had walked all the way here and will walk back

 

And it will wake me from the hell of my desolation

The table has been empty, I will fold it away

 

Amid the glad shouts of New Year’s Eve, dear neighbor

You will hear no crying voice, dear neighbor

 

The loner, empty pockets, will walk back

The child, no ragdoll or plaything, will walk back

 

It was me who roamed the whole horizon miserably

Visible only at the crosswords waiting for work

 

My bread in the brickyards, loaves of brick

My table that is no table is full of hunger

 

Every single mirror reflects my failure

My handprint marks every building’s brick

 

By short bitter courtesies, they know me,

they know me in this town as an Afghan

 

Even if the backbone of sky bends I will stand

Let the world be full of Moljems, I will pray

 

And it will wake me from the hell of my desolation

The table has been empty, I will fold it away

 

I will go in the warm breath of the road at dusk

I had walked all the way here and will walk back

 

How could I not return to where the trench is

To the place of my brother’s pilgrimage and grave

 

How could I not return while mosque and altar

Are there, with the blade waiting to kiss my head

 

In the foreign land I can wash for prayer

But only at home, the readiness to pray, the prayer

 

 

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