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Selection of Masoud Ahmadi’s Poems - 1

  • مشاهده در قالب پی دی اف

دویدن در تنهايي                                                                                                                          Running in Loneliness

گزينه­ یی از شعرهاي مسعود احمدي                                                                 Sellection of Masoud Ahmadi's Poems

به انتخاب و ترجمه منصوره وحدتي احمدزاده                                       Translated By Mansoureh Vahdati Ahmadzadeh

 

 

...I was an Angel and

 

Should I bring in geraniums? 

It is fit not at all   

neither this rain with corpses in bus 

nor this crow with cadavers in taxi

the pavement also is vomiting as street

from stink of many corpses

hollow passers-by

the cherubim that sell cigarette, sock, scarf, belt, cup

the angels that beg or using make-up

and stand at two step of crossroads

look over this one

she has both mobile and pimp

and now going to visit the next one

 

Where do I put chrysanthemums

by the window or on the living room table?

Gypsies are weeping and entreating

If these have no use charming

 

Where are you Fairy?

The angels' mouths full of nonsense

the back part of a shop

filled with panting and tissue

and god

constantly be in the human's funeral

Afternoon nap of a stairway tears with the sound of light sandals

seventy years Abolhole opens the door of a place

that every day is closed at 3pm

ten minutes

Just ten minutes later

thirteen years old Cinderella

comes out of that door

With a new stain on neck

a new wrinkle in soul

and the new bills in her purse

rushing down the stairs

running in to the street

-taxi, Africa shopping center

Now

the angel who put her wings in the pledge

vomiting by the street, bursting in to tears

and after a few coughing:

- Golestan shopping

 

At last, where do I put chrysanthemums?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

Still

hundred steps remain to the end of day

she puts the pressure cooker on the stove

herself in the closet:

- hello, you can come

God

is going to buy newspaper

rummaging his pockets

there is nothing

but much naps, a lot of ah, two Homa cigarettes

I put geraniums by the window

chrysanthemums on the living room's table

then

I make tea, open the door, stretch my legs

and even  think not of

the elm which was here till two minutes before

in the mirror

beside the bookshelves

The passer-by bridge is bedroom of opium-addicted ghosts

the corner of park is shelter of ecstatic spirits

Magdalene is returning to her first place

Jesus to a crypt in Mesgarabad

and the one who supposed to come

is playing flute at the underground station

and know not at all

the coin being thrown in his cap

is forgery

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