آه ای هم دم
ای نشسته بر لبانت پرندگان بی صدای شرم
و نگاه‌ات زدودن زنگار یک عمر غم
آه ای مرهم
چه می‌شد اگر آنشب پلک نمی زدم بر هم

آه ای صرف مداوم فعل رفتن،
من خسته‌ام از اینجا ماندن
و تو، تویی که مدام در راهی
در من گاه خوابی و گاه بیداری
تو بگو
من را به کدامین شاخه‌ی درخت‌های سرگردانی آویخته‌ای؟
زیر دست کدام طوفان؟
به پناه کدام سقف؟
به کدام آغوش بی‌کسی سپرده‌ای؟
من این امتداد سلسه‌ی تنهایی
در ابتذال زمان از خویش دست شسته‌ام
و تو را ای حضور غایب، مدام در خود خویش تکرار کرده‌ام.
و تو، روزهاست که رفته‌ای اما هنوز در منی.
پیوسته ، آهسته
چون ریزش ممتد این برف،
چون چرخش عقربه ها در من ادامه می دهی
...
خشایار مصطفوی خرداد ۱۴۰۰

Alongside the wind

Alongside the wind

By Khashayar Mostafavi

Translations by Buna Alkhas

From: Crimson Snow from Azure Skies: A Compendium of Contemporary and Classical Persian Poetry, Page 51

A child sits in the cradle of a hug,

Rocking from fear of crying perhaps.

Mother is alone - no, there is no father

He has gathered up all his pride among his bullet clips.

He has gone, never to return again unless wrapped inside

Photo By: Guy Le Querrec

A few layers of black plastic.

Uncle brought back a pick-up truck - a gift from the war - After-shock stricken human bones.  I have permission Until tomorrow, to name them one by one, but

It’s a shame my heart is constantly menstruating.

Mother is alone - no, uncle is here -

I play with myself and am frightened.

Just let my swollen breasts gather up the saliva from the Tongues of the drivers, merchants, bakers - oh father,

It is such a pity that the mouths of all my would-be lovers Smell of chicken and rice, yoghurt and onions;

And Uncle is worst of all.

Mother is alone,

She says that not all the men of the world are uncles. (Okay, I’ll call you father.) -  Oh father, father, I am cold – No, I didn’t mean anything by that - I just wanted to say the weather was getting cold.

Mother is alone. Even the uncles have gone.

I fumble around under the white sheets and at times, 

Out of happiness, I slide over to the window to see if the Uncle with the bunch of wildflowers is still standing by the wall, enchanted by my pink slippers –

Or has he too gone to hell?

It’s been windy all night; on the roads, in the streets,

In my head.

And the good news is that mother is no longer alone,

She should be at God’s side by now.

And I am doing fine, making the rounds from morning ‘til night. Pretending to spend a lifetime with this one or That one. Too bad I didn’t know what a good thing this Crocodile brand razorblade was and how nicely it rips Apart tissue and veins and nerves and a few other places.

God, these few imaginary places. Do I rip you apart as Well, or you me?

I am not alone here; there are ants as well, with a whole Bunch of feet and a world of patience.

I am joyful; I love everyone, even these silent ants who Busy themselves on my body and I am so happy that the Sun has foolishly gone elsewhere to take care of office Business and daily affairs…   

   

By Khashayar Mostafavi

Translations by Buna Alkhas