Translated Poems  - Farrokh Tamimi





of emerald a rug I spread

to lie at the feet of Eve

Scent I spread

to reflect the room's air.

Seventy  agates

in seven heads

rise from seven horns

of the holy chandelier

yet the dark within

doesn't light up

for this abject persistence

by the trace of the sliding snake

to crack into a paltry brook.




 Read this poem in Persian
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