Poetry

I will greet the sun again

I am sending my greetings to the sun,
To the tender river that filled my veins,
To the raining clouds that carried my long dreams
And to the sore aging of poplar trees in the yard:
They escorted me in all visits of dried times.

I am sending my greetings to the crowd of crows:
They always brought me the fresh perfume of nights’ crops.
And to my mother who stayed in the mirror,
And looked like my aged face.

My greetings to the earth,
The earth that the thrill of repeating me,
was cramming beneath its aroused inside,
by green seeds.

I will come, I will come,
I will arrive.

With my curls: the winged scent of the soil
With my eyes: the bright insight of the night
And I will bring all flowers I picked
from the other side of the wall.

I will come, I will come,
I will arrive.

And then the gates will be invaded by love,
And there, I will greet everybody who loves.

And, I know:
There will be a girl, still standing in front of the gates,
those soaked gates in the deluge of love…

I will greet her again as well.


By: Forough Farrokhzad