سلامت را نمی خواهند پاسخ گفت
سرها در گریبان است
کسی سر بر نیارد کرد پاسخ گفتن و دیدار یاران را
نگه جز پیش پا را دید ، نتواند
که ره تاریک و لغزان است
وگر دست محبت سوی کسی یازی
به کراه آورد دست از بغل بیرون
که سرما سخت سوزان است
نفس ، کز گرمگاه سینه می اید برون ، ابری شود تاریک
چو دیدار ایستد در پیش چشمانت
نفس کاین است ، پس دیگر چه داری چشم
ز چشم دوستان دور یا نزدیک ؟
مسیحای جوانمرد من !
ای ترسای پیر پیرهن چرکین
هوا بس ناجوانمردانه سرد است ...
ای
دمت گرم و سرت خوش باد
سلامم را تو پاسخ گوی ، در بگشای
منم من ، میهمان هر شبت ، لولی وش مغموم
منم من ، سنگ تیپاخورده ی رنجور
منم ، دشنام پس آفرینش ، نغمه ی ناجور
نه از رومم ، نه از زنگم ، همان بیرنگ بیرنگم
بیا بگشای در ، بگشای ، دلتنگم
حریفا !
میزبانا !
میهمان سال و ماهت پشت در چون موج می لرزد
تگرگی نیست ، مرگی نیست
صدایی گر شنیدی ، صحبت سرما و دندان است
من امشب آمدستم وام بگزارم
حسابت را کنار جام بگذارم
چه می گویی که بیگه شد ، سحر شد ، بامداد آمد ؟
فریبت می دهد ، بر آسمان این سرخی بعد از سحرگه نیست
حریفا !
گوش سرما برده است این ، یادگار سیلی سرد زمستان است
و قندیل سپهر تنگ میدان ، مرده یا زنده
به تابوت ستبر ظلمت نه توی مرگ اندود ، پنهان است
حریفا !
رو چراغ باده را بفروز ، شب با روز یکسان است
سلامت را نمی خواهند پاسخ گفت
هوا دلگیر ، درها بسته ، سرها در گریبان ، دستها پنهان
نفسها ابر ، دلها خسته و غمگین
درختان اسکلتهای بلور آجین
زمین دلمرده ، سقف آسمان کوتاه
غبار آلوده مهر و ماه
زمستان است
The Winter
Your greetings they'll ignore.
With their heads resting on their chests,
They seek warmth from their breasts,
None affords to lift a head to greet the guests.
Vision is limited,
The road's dark and slick.
Your extended friendly hand is refused,
Not because they are confused;
They rather keep their hands where they are warmed.
It is frightfully cold.
Do not be alarmed.
Observe your breath,
Leaving the warmth of your breast;
Turns into a dark cloud
Before it rests
On the wall before your chest.
If your breath is this unkind,
What is amiss; if
Distant and near friends,
Were to keep you out of mind?
My manly Messiah,
Uncompromising man of faith!
Winter is cowardly and cold,
You keep the words warm,
Sustain that stance bold.
Accept my greetings.
Let me in.
Your nightly guest:
The pedestrian rock,
The curse of creation,
The uneven melody.
Allow this pest, a moment of rest.
I am not from Rome or Africa.
Allow the Africans the south,
North, the Romans.
Colorblind I am,
Enough for both.
Let me in!
Let my sorrow in!
Be a good host, To your ever-present guest, Who shivers behind your door.
Have mercy on the poor.
There is no hail.
You may have heard a tale, There exists no death, Only chattering teeth and a short breath.
Tonight I intend to pay back The account for which I lack It is not too late It is not midnight There is no morning Don't be fooled by the dawn's false trap.
My frozen red ears Bespeak winter's harsh slap.
And your universal sun At the mercy of each breath, Rather than your coffin Brightens the hidden cave of death.
Dear friend, with wine, Illumine the sight; Night is day Day is night.
They'll ignore your greeting Amid this depressing weather Doors are shut Heads on chests Hands hidden, Hopes are cruelly cut.
Trees are but Crystalline skeletons, The sky's moved closer; The land is devoid of life, Dimmed are the sun and the moon Winter is rife.
Winter They are not going to answer your greeting Their heads are in their collars Nobody is going to raise his head To answer a question or to see a friend The eyes cannot see beyond the feet The road is dark and slick If you stretch a friendly hand towards anybody He hardly brings his hand out of his pocket For the cold is so bitter The breath coming out of your chest Turns into a dark cloud And stands like a wall in front of your eyes While your own breath is like this What do you expect from your distant or close friends?
My gentle Messiah, O, dirty dressed monk The weather is so ungently cold You be warm and happy You answer my greeting and open the door It is me, your nightly guest, an unhappy gypsy; It is me, a kicked up, afflicted stone It is me, a low insult of creation, an untuned melody.
I am neither white nor black I am colorless Come and open the door, see how cheerless I am O, my dear host, your nightly guest is shivering outside There is no hail outside, no death; If you hear any sound, it is the sound of cold and teeth.
What are you saying, that It is too late, it is dawn, it is day?
What you see on the sky Is not the redness after dawn It is the result of the winter's slap On the sky's cheeks O, partner go and get the wine ready Days and nights are the same They are not going to answer your greeting The air is gloomy, doors are closed, The heads are in collars, the hands are hidden, The breaths are clouds, the people are tired and sad, The trees are crystallized skeletons, the earth is low-spirited The roof of the sky is low The sun and moon are hazy It is winter.
Translated by Mahvash Shahegh