Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2018  Vol. 17 No. 1
an online journal of literature and the arts
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translation from Persian by Negar Emrani

The Heart of Daggers

The heart of daggers in the hands of the homeless,

Your childhood has wallowed among pigs,

When the time was being, you breezed;

Bee, bee, nimble for the ooze of dance and displacement in the head,

Why did not they call you: Your Excellency . . .

Lord Bomb, a bomb in your head!

Without him, without an Arab in desert

We, the stampede of the camels, the stomp of the wildest world before us!

You danced on a body, on a tongue you died . . .

You had been bringing the book, the game is the game of your fingers . . .

A finger hanging over the time, without an Arab in the desert, they cut off your feet,

We with you, we without everyone . . .  

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