Ik mis…
Ik neem in
ontvangst
een nieuwe titel
en voel
iets warms
een gevoel
in mij borrelen,
dat ik zo graag
wil delen.
Ik zoek
vanuit hier
op het podium
met mijn kleine
ogen
tussen de grote
menigte
een oude
geliefde
mijn adelaar der
beminning
en ik vind
een opgezwollen
leegte.
Cooked
It’s 8 in the morning
Final exams have started
My eyes are sleepy
But I have to analyze
The problem states:
“How to optimize?”
I have to derive
But the brains are still
Yawning inside
Two hours later
The time is up
Four questions are unanswered
And I think I’m done
It’s called a crush
The rain has just stopped
I’m sitting on a bench
Listening to the music
Played by the notes of the fountain on the campus
I look at the water
It used to be very calm
Until someone turned it on
Now it jumps to the sky
And makes a free fall to the ground
A classmate runs to catch the train
A stranger shivers from the cold
A cigarette burns between my fingers
But the fire is inside my heart
Some one special has turned on the flames
It started with a glimpse
And turned me into a warrior
For a fight between mind and feeling
“Why is he special again?”
Both parties of the battle are out of answer!
But that is just because
He has that effect on my concentration
Called: crushing it!
Love and Pride
She is smoking
Outside Menza
At the same spot
Where you waited for a sign
And she passed you by
She is regretting
Inside Menza
Next to a window
Where she can look at
Your empty spot
And her holy pride
My land
My
land
is
that lady who searched
from the moment the sun woke up
until the moon took over
for
twenty years or more
every prison in my nation
to
find
her
executed husband.
My
land
is
that child
who
was given birth to
in
a prison cell, last year.
Or
maybe the mother
who
shouted out the pain
while bringing the embryo to life
by
cursing the baby’s father
-the man who raped her-.
My
land
is
the man on TV
from exile
who
encourages me
to
boycott the elections
in
the hope for Americans to help
by
bombing my land,
Or
the old man
who
is watching TV
and
hoping to find
some radiation of light
in
the face of the speaker…
My
land
is
the student
who
cares
for
his home and landmates
who
participated
peacefully
in
a wide demonstration last month
and
got arrested,
put
in a cage,
but
no one cares to know
what happened since then.
My
land
is
the girl from the countryside
who
came to study in Tehran
and
turned into a faded rose
sleeping every night
next to a new man
who
will pay for her services.
My
land
is
the writer who was imprisoned
many times
either when the lions ruled
or
when the vultures came.
Oh
my land,
You
are so lonely my land.
You
are alone my land.
Farinaz Aryanfar, campusdichter 2008
