خانه ات را باد برد

خانه ات را باد برد

تو هنوزم نگرانِ وزشِ باد، در موي مني !؟

مسخِ افيونيِ افسانه ي اصحابِ كدامين غاري ؟

در كدامين خوابي ؟

خواب در چشمِ تو ويرانيِ صد طايفه است
تشتِ رسواييِ دزدانِ امارت افتاد
تو نگهدار ، هنوزم دو سرِ شالِ مرا
...
پشتِ اين پرده ي پوسيده ، تو در خوابي و من
با همين زلفكِ ممنوعه ي خود
نردباني به بلنداي سحر ميبافم
تا برآرم خورشيد
و تو در خوابي و آب
از سرت مي گذرد
...
و نديدي هرگز
توي جنگل ، كاج را
شب به شب ، جاي سپيدار زدند
و نبودند پلنگان، وقتي
كه دماوندِ اساطيري را
از كمر، دار زدند
و به هر دانه برنجي كه به رنج
بر سرِ سفره ي ما آمده بود
توي شاليزاران
آهن و آجر و ديوار زدند
...
و تو در خوابي و آب
تشنه ي هامون شد
خونِ زاينده بريد
و نفس هاي شبِ شرجيِ هور
زير گِل ، مدفون شد
...
خانه ات را باد برد
تشتِ رسوايي و غارت افتاد
تو نگهدار به چنگت ، شبِ گيسوي مرا
تا مبادا شبِ قحطي زده ي سفره ي ما
مشتِ خالي ترا باز كند
تا مبادا كه ببينند همه خوي ترا


موي مرا


من حجابم

نه حجابِ تنِ آزاده ي خود

من حجابِ تنِ يغما زده و خوابِ توام

پشتِ اين پرده ي پوسيده تو در خوابي و من

با همين زلفكِ ممنوعه ي خود

نردباني به بلنداي سحر ميبافم

تا برآرم خورشيد


                        The Wind Blew Your House Away

The wind blew away your house
And, you still worry about the wind blowing in my hair?!
The myth of which cave’s sleepers has you intoxicated so? 
Why are you sleeping?
A hundred tribes go to ruins while you sleep
The scandal about the kingdom’s thieves is everywhere
But, with your two hands, you still hold on to the two ends of my shawl

You are asleep behind this worn out curtain, and I,
with this same ‘forbidden’ hair of mine
will weave a ladder as tall as the sunrise
to bring out the sun
And you are asleep and water passes over you

And you never saw
how in the forest, pine trees were cut down, night after night,

in place of poplar trees
And there were no tigers when
mythological Damavand Mountain
was hanged from the loin
And for every grain of rice that had come to our table through hard labor,
in the rice paddies,
they planted iron, bricks, and walls

And you are sleeping,

and water thirsted for Hamoon Lake,
blood of Zayandeh River clotted,
and the breath of Hoor Wetlands’ humid nights
were buried under mud

The wind blew away your house 
The scandal about the lootings has broken out
With your claws, you grab on to my night’s hair
Lest the famine-stricken nights of our dinner spread
reveals the emptiness of your fists
Lest anyone sees your temper

I am veiled
but not veiled according to volition of my own free body
I am veiled because of your spoiled body and mind
You are asleep behind this worn out curtain, and I,
with this same ‘forbidden’ hair of mine
will weave a ladder as tall as the sunrise
to bring out the sun