By Mohammad Hossein Abedi
Translated by Laetitia Nanquette and Ali Alizadeh

 

Monday

Mondays when you are angry with my ego

one second

murderous seconds

tick

tock.

When you become the murderer of tock,

we expel each other from the house,

and the wine turns soil to mud.

 

Kiss

disgusting kisses

those Mondays murdering the month.

The months in a queue:

March

Summer

September…

The sound of a bullet

and the snow…

One bullet for twelve months

the year ends

and then, the wait…

You don’t come.

September becomes the 12th month.

When the 27th day of the month arrives,

tick is above tock.

There’s the sound of a bullet

and the snow…

The year, always passé

 

tick

tock

tick

tock

tick.

 

Click here to listen to the poem in Farsi, as read by Mohammed Hossein Abedi.