Winter | Mehdi Akhavan Sales | Ali Salami

Love Came So Red | Simin Behbahani | Ali Salami
October 21, 2019
Near A Distant Realm | Sohrab Sepehri | Ali Salami
October 21, 2019

They will not answer your hello

Their heads are hanging low

It’s from their breasts they seek warmth

No one can raise a head to meet the visitors.

One cannot see beyond one’s feet;

The road is dark

And slippery.

You extend a loving hand to others

While they are sloth to extend theirs to you.

It is bitterly cold;

The breath issuing forth from their chests

Turns into a dark pall of cloud,

Rising up to meet you.

This is the breath. What do you expect

Close and distant friends to be like?

O my Meek Messiah!

O Old Christian clad in tatters!

May your breath be warm!

It’s tyrannically cold.

May your head be merry!

Answer my hello! Open your door to me!

This is me, a perpetually nocturnal visitor,

A disheartened gypsy!

This is me, a piece of stone, kicked and afflicted;

This is me, an insult for creation, an untuned melody.

Neither am I black nor white;

But a purely colorless being.

Come! Open the door! I am sick at heart.

O rival! O host!

Your perpetual visitor is shaking at the door like a ripple.

There’s no hail nor is there any death!

If there’s any sound,

It’s but that of cold and teeth chattering.

Tonight I am here to pay my debts;

To leave your debts by your jar of wine.

What do you say,

That it’s too late

That it is the break of dawn

That morning has fallen?

What a deceit!

This is not the redness emerging after dawn breaks.

Alack! That is the sign of winter’s slap

On the cheeks of winter.

And the icicle of the firmament, the sun

– Dead or alive-

Is blurred and buried

In the thick darkness of the deathly coffin.

O mate!

Make ready the cups of wine;

Night and day are the same.

They barely wish to answer your hello

The sky’s gloomy;

The doors closed;

The heads hanging low;

The hands hidden.

The breaths cloudy;

The hearts downcast and weary.

The trees are crystalized skeletons.

The earth is dejected;

The sky’s ceiling is low.

Misty are the sun and the moon;

It is winter.

 

Translated by Ali Salami

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *