Poems of Fatemeh Rezanezad (Iran)

The Lot in the Ferris Wheel’s Turn
Fatemeh Rezanezad (Iran)

The lot in the Ferris wheel's turn
I know not
which way it spins.
Fate remains an unanswered question
among the colorful races of the world.
War,
this old mafia,
this master gambler,
who turns the earth into a fresh table of blood with every hand
Has made the world sit and watch
the tragedy of death.
It is as if the "Last Supper of Destiny"
Is drawn closer to completion
With every passing moment
Adorned with portraits of mass graves
And the terrified eyes of women and children.
If only
war were a masculine word,
And women and children,
rather than framed in the portrait of death,
could hide within the safe embrace of refuge
Without fear
Without flight
Without the shadow of blood.



The Alzheimer Kiss
Fatemeh Rezanezad (Iran)

For a long time now,
I cannot recall the taste of that last kiss.
However deep I search my memory,
only a faint shadow lingers on my lips;
As if someone had scrubbed the pomegranate’s crimson
from the mouths of lovers.
Sometimes, in the city’s crowded stations,
I search the passing faces.
Everything is precise, orderly, yet something is missing:
That warmth!
Which once traveled from one lip to another.
At night,
under the cold glow of screens,
I watch humanlike robots
Talking incessantly
Without any pause,
And I cannot remember who last restored me to life
with a warm kiss.
I have seen many women who smile
Yet in their eyes surges a long-standing embargo on kisses.
And each day, my fear grows deeper
Lest this quiet oblivion be that nameless plague
sweeping across the world:
The Alzheimer Kiss
An affliction that erases lips from one another’s memory,
Long before it touches the mind .



Freedom
Fatemeh Rezanezad (Iran)

Of me
Of you
Freedom is a name
On the signboard of an endless street
Where birds entrust
every song they sing to the sky
Like a confession of love!
If a passerby should walk through
Their eyes hold the reflection of yours
And the cobblestones
traced by the imprint of our footsteps
Turn into the secret of a kiss.
The wind carries away
the quiet messages of our hearts
To whisper into the trees' ears
That freedom is nothing less
than the endless bond
Between you and me!
When love soars
beyond every law and every wall.



Bullets And Flowers!
Fatemeh Rezanezad (Iran)

Like a soldier
Standing at the border’s edge,
Fire away
At the heart of a lover
Who, instead of sending bullets
Longs to send flowers
To the whole world.
Tell me;
Whose demonic hand
Reached out from the sleeve of war,
That our most innocent girls
Are still waiting
Upon the ruins of cities?


After the bugle of the truce
Awakens the silence from its heavy slumber
I will see you coming from the horizon
With bandages that do not hide your wounds
But narrate them
And a single red rose that seems to have risen from the heart of the scorched earth.

And I,
In the shadow of time’s worn hedge,
Like a lantern drawing its flame from the breath of hope
Keep my eyes fixed upon your path.

Waiting
for a woman
is not an isolated event
But a realm
Where days are planted with the seeds of patience
And nights are watered with tears.

Men may fight on the battlefields
But women,
In the silent geography within
Carry on a far longer war
With an army of memories and dreams
A war named 'Waiting,'
Whose victory lies not in conquest
But in keeping love from rotting
beneath the rain of oblivion.



Night
Fatemeh Rezanejad (Iran)

pours into me
like an unanswered question.

Your absence
is a shadow
that even legends
do not dare to narrate.

Until dawn,
I converse with the silent numbers of my age,
and every page of my book
bears witness to the death of a moment.

My womanhood
hides
in a dark dream,
so that your impossible presence
is not exposed.
Now,
I do not know
where in the world
my missing half
remains stranded
between being and non-being.


*These poems translated by: Khan Hasnain Aaqib (Principal, G. N. Azad college, Pusad, India)*