The poetry of the great Iranian poet Forugh Farrokhzad فروغ فرخزاد Translated into English Photos and Interviews Let us Believe in the dawn of the cold. Forugh Farrokhzad, Another Birth, Selected Poems Translated by Ismali Salami Zanbankadeh Publication Modern Persian Poetry Page 20 ISBN: . Forugh Farrokhzad Home Page Poetry of Forugh in French by Editions Lettres Persanes, Le conquete du jardin. Publication of Selected.

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I whispered in his ear the tale of love: Do you like this poet?

The Bird May Die My whole being is a dark chant which will carry you perpetuating you to the dawn of eternal growths and blossoming in this chant I sighed you sighed in this chant I grafted you to the tree to the water to the fire.

My lot is a gloomy stroll in a grove of memories, and dying from longing for a voice that says: From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Gift – Poem by Forough Farrokhzad

But how can one look fondly at, or even expect an answer from a society that is shapeless, without an ideal, refusing any sort of responsibility, its only movement being from a season of mating to a season of grazing?

Within a world which on darkness does feed With every step you take I proceed. In other words, they are only poets when they wrote poetry. Sexual Politics in Modern Iran. And so in the end the sun did not shine at once on both poles of despair.

I know a sad little fairy who lives in the sea and plays the wooden flute of her foeough tenderly, forouvh. I conjured you in my poem with a sigh and grafted you to water, fire, and trees.

They subject it to laws. This sad heart of mine and burning incense? And in the hollow of my ink-stained palms swallows will make their nest. Excerpts of her work are accompanied by photos and two live interviews in her own voice. Subscriber Tools Renew Donate. Everyone knows, everyone knows that you and I have seen the garden from that cold sullen window Everyone is afraid everyone is afraid, but you and I joined with the lamp and water and mirror and we were not afraid.

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Perhaps life is the lighting of a cigarette Between the narcotic repose of two lovemakings Or the puzzled passage of a passerby Tipping his hat Saying good morning to another passerby with a vacant smile. In my burning body you are a turning gyre In the shade of my eyelashes you are a blazing fire. Five Poems by Mehrdad Fallah. I obey the four elements; and the job of drawing up dorough constitution of my heart is not the business of the local government of the blind.

I shall wear a pair of twin cherries as ear-rings and I shall put dahlia petals on my finger-nails there is an alley where the boys who were in love with me still loiter with the same unkempt hair thin necks and bony legs and think of the innocent smiles of a little girl who was blown away by the wind one night. Talk to me What else would the one offering the kindness of a live flesh want from you?

Forough Farrokhzad Poems – Poems of Forough Farrokhzad – Poem Hunter

I look upon this bliss as a stranger I am addicted to my despair. Look how the one who spoke with words, caressed with eyes, and was tamed by touch was nailed to the cross of apprehensions; how the tarrokhzad of your fingers like five letters otf truth left a mark on her cheek. Best Poem of Forough Farrokhzad.

The Bird May Die Burning my tresses with a fondling hand Flushing my checks with an urging demand. I am cold and I think I will never feel warm again. I am talking about the silvery life foroguh a song which a small fountain sings at dawn.

That time a man passed by wet trees… Why did I not look? This is no longer love: Dreams always plunge down ppoems their naive height and die. Learning against people with black sight Defiling oneself with the filth of spite.


The Frough Will Take Us. To shatter was the secret of that unbroken body from whose humblest pieces the sun was born. All my being is a dark verse that repeats you to the dawn of unfading flowering and growth.

The journey of a form along the line of time inseminating the line of time with the form a form conscious of an image coming back from a feast in a mirror And it is in this way that someone dies and someone lives on. The only way to survive is that one piems reach such a state of detachment and maturity that he or she can become both a builder of and a mouthpiece for her world, both an observer and a judge.

One window will suffice me one window to the moment of awareness observance and silence. How long can he or she survive this isolation, conversing only with the door ooems the four walls? I want to hang my heart like ripe fruit on every branch of every tree. You are hidden under my skin flowing through my every cell, singeing my hair with your caressing hand, leaving my cheeks sunburned with desire. Translated by Pokhrel, Suman First ed. This is the end.

All shapes of woe you belie. A man passes by the wet trees, a man whose strings of blue veins are dead snakes wrapped about his throat, pounding his angry temples with those bloodied syllables; Salaam.

The Wedding Band – Poem by Forough Farrokhzad

Let us believe in the ruin of imaginary gardens, in idle inverted scythes, in confined seeds. The Messiah sleeps in a grave and the earth—the hospitable earth— beckons one to serenity.

Thank you Tomiannnolan gmail. I feel sad, I feel blue.