Hessamedin Sheikhi, journalist and poet, Iran. Trans. Sherry (Shohreh) Laici
I could write about the citrus,
the smell of lemon,
the bitter taste of pomegranate,
but I would like to write about rare words,
such as you.
The farms are burning!
They grew tall, magnificent wheat
Which wasn’t feeding the children.
Time brings slow ruin,
But this lonely ruin
Is me—ruined by war in a day.
I’m grandfather’s watch—since he died, sitting alone
Since you left.
Do you look fondly upon this leaf?
Finally, finally, I am changed!
Life is nothing but the profit
From long term deposits.
Give me your hands.
If we could hear
Soldiers reading out loud letters
Sent by those who love them,
War would end.