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The multitude

The lapsed multitude

Fallen, weakened and languid

Under the burden of their bodies

Kept going from one peregrination to another one

And the painful desire of crime

Swelled in their hands

Sometimes a spark

A small spark

Decomposed this society by interior

The men tore each other’s throats with knives

And in a bed of blood, violated premature girls

They were the drowned in their horrors

And the frightening sense of crimination

Had paralyzed their blind and naïve souls

During the rites of hanging a man

To the gallows-tree

When the strangling cord

Threw out the convulsive eyes of a condemned one

They sank in themselves

A by a lascivious illusion

Their tired old nerves

Had a twitch of pain

But always one could see

These small criminals

Standing at the corners of squares

Fixing their eyes

On the continuous fall of water-jets

Perhaps still behind their crushed eyes

In the profoundness of coagulation

A half-alive thing had remained

Which wanted with its strife without energy

To believe in the cleanness of songs of waters

Perhaps, but what an unending void!

The sun had died

And nobody knew that the name of that sad pigeon

Which escaped from the hearts is: Belief.

Ah prisoner voice

Whether the glory of your despair

Will never burrow

From one part of this abominable night

                                                       to the light ?

Ah prisoner voice

Ah the last voice of voices…
Some part of the poem!
Mahdi Akhloumadi Dec 2020
Открытость твоего лица и твоих руки
И твой соглашающийся язык

И твой ароматный  попутный ветер дыхания

От солнца твое питание
И от бога

И как красиво ты говоришь

برگشاده روی و دستانت
و بر زبان آری گویت،
و بر نفحات انفاس موافقت،
و از خورشیدت خورش
و از خدایت
و چه زیبا سخن می گویی ای مرد
و من می گویم
مرا ببالان
مرا فراخ کن
Ceyhun Mahi Sep 2020
هر موج نگاه و خنده ها زیبا است
از یار سخن لب شفا زیبا است
ای دوست چه عجب که بیوفا زیبا است
این عشق و حال مبتلا زیبا است

''Each wave of (her) glance and smiles is beautiful,
The words of the healing lips from the beloved are beautiful.
O friend, is it strange? that unfaithful beloved is beautiful,
This love and its state of suffering is beautiful.''

This is my first rubai (rhymed and metered) poem written in Farsi!
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
The Eager Traveler
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Even in the torture chamber, I was the lucky one;
When each lottery was over, unaccountably I had won.

And even the mightiest rivers found accessible refuge in me;
Though I was called an arid desert, I turned out to be the sea.

And how sweetly I remember you, oh, my wild, delectable love—
Like the purest white blossoms, on talented branches above.

And while I’m half-convinced that folks adore me in this town,
Still, all the hands I kissed held knives and tried to shake me down.

You lost the battle, my coward friend, my craven enemy,
When, to victimize my lonely soul, you sent a despoiling army.

Lost in the wastelands of vast love, I was an eager traveler,
Like a breeze in search of your fragrance, a vagabond explorer.

Published in the anthology Eastern Promise

I Cannot Remember
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

I once was a poet too (you gave life to my words), but now I cannot remember
Since I have forgotten you (my love!), my art too I cannot remember

Yesterday consulting my heart, I learned
that your hair, lips, mouth, I cannot remember

In the city of the intellect insanity is silence
But now your sweet, spontaneous voice, its fluidity, I cannot remember

Once I was unfamiliar with wrecking ***** and ruins
But now the cultivation of gardens, I cannot remember

Now everyone shops at the store selling arrows and quivers
But neglects his own body, the client he cannot remember

Since time has brought me to a desert of such arid forgetfulness
Even your name may perish; I cannot remember

In this narrow state of being, lacking a country,
even the abandonment of my fellow countrymen, I cannot remember

Published in the anthology Eastern Promise

by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Come, even with anguish, even to torture my heart;
Come, even if only to abandon me to torment again.

Come, if not for our past commerce,
Then to faithfully fulfill the ancient barbaric rituals.

Who else can recite the reasons for our separation?
Come, despite your reluctance, to continue the litanies, the ceremony.

Respect, even if only a little, the depth of my love for you;
Come, someday, to offer me consolation as well.

Too long you have deprived me of the pathos of longing;
Come again, my love, if only to make me weep.

Till now, my heart still suffers some slight expectation;
So come, ***** out even the last flickering torch of hope!

Ahmad Faraz [1931-2008], born Syed Ahmad Shah, was a Pakistani poet generally considered to be one of the greatest modern Urdu poets. Faraz was a poet accessible to ordinary readers due to his “fine but simple style of writing.” Ethnically a Hindkowan, he studied Persian and Urdu at Edwards College, then at Peshawar University, where he became a lecturer after receiving his Masters. During his time in college, Faiz Ahmad Faiz and Ali Sardar Jafri impressed him and became influences on his own work. Faraz was born in Kohat, Pakistan to Syed Muhammad Shah Barq. In an interview he recalled how his father once bought clothes for him and his brother on Eid. He didn't like the clothes meant for him, preferring the ones given to his elder brother. This lead him to write his first couplet:

Laye hain sab ke liye kapre sale se (He brought clothes for everybody from the sale)
Laye hain hamare liye kambal jail se (For me he brought a blanket from jail)

Faraz was an outspoken critic of Pakistan’s military dictatorship, saying, “My conscience will not forgive me if I remain a silent spectator of the sad happenings around us. The least I can do is to let the dictatorship know where it stands in the eyes of the concerned citizens whose fundamental rights have been usurped. I ... refuse to associate myself in any way with the regime ..."

Keywords/Tags: Ahmad Faraz, Pakistani, Urdu, Persian, translation, couplet, eager, traveler, love, mrburdu
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Brother Iran
by Michael R. Burch

Brother Iran, I feel your pain.
I feel it as when the Turk fled Spain.
As the Jew fled, too, that constricting span,
I feel your pain, Brother Iran.

Brother Iran, I know you are noble!
I too fear Hiroshima and Chernobyl.
But though my heart shudders, I have a plan,
and I know you are noble, Brother Iran.

Brother Iran, I salute your Poets!
your Mathematicians!, all your great Wits!
O, come join the earth’s great Caravan.
We’ll include your Poets, Brother Iran.

Brother Iran, I love your Verse!
Come take my hand now, let’s rehearse
the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.
For I love your Verse, Brother Iran.

Bother Iran, civilization’s Flower!
How high flew your towers in man’s early hours!
Let us build them yet higher, for that’s my plan,
civilization’s first flower, Brother Iran.

Published by MahMag (translated into Farsi by Mahnaz Badihian), Other Voices International, Thanal Online (India), Deviant Art, Portal Vapasin (Farsi). Keywords/Tags: Iran, Iranian, Farsi, Persia, Persian, brotherhood, culture, civilization, poetry, literature, poets, mathematicians, philosophers
Ceyhun Mahi Mar 2020
گفتم چرا این جلوه و ناز
گفت زیرا خواهید کرد نیاز
My first couplet in Farsi. I hope it makes sense!
Jim Davis Oct 2019
The Moving Finger writes;
and, having writ
Moves on:
nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to
cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears
wash out a word of it.
Apropos for our profession of poetry I believe!  

From Wikipedia:  Omar Khayyam (/kaɪˈjɑːm/; Persian: عمر خیّام‎ [oˈmæɾ xæjˈjɒːm]; 18 May 1048 – 4 December 1131) was a Persian mathematician, astronomer, and poet.[3][4][5] He was born in Nishapur, in northeastern Iran, and spent most of his life near the court of the Karakhanid and Seljuq rulers in the period which witnessed the First Crusade.

The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics quotes the tradition that the Persian quatrain-form, the ruba'i, originated in the gleeful shouts of a child, overheard and imitated by a passing poet.
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