In This Deadend
They smell your mouth.
To find out if you have told someone,
I love you!
They smell your heart!
Such a strange time it is, my dear;
They punish Love
At thoroughfares
By flogging.
We must hide our love in dark closets.
In this crooked deadend of a bitter cold
They keep their fire alive
By burning our songs and poems;
Do not place your life in peril by your thoughts!
Such a strange time it is, my dear;
He who knocks on your door at middle-night,
His mission is to break your lamp!
We must hide our lights in dark closets!
Behold! butchers are on guard at thoroughfares
With their bloodstained cleavers and chopping boards;
Such a strange time it is, my dear!
They cut off the smiles from lips,
and the songs from throats!
We must hide our emotions in dark closets!
They barbecue canaries
On a fire of lilacs and jasmine!
Such a strange time it is, my dear!
Intoxicated by victory,
Satan is enjoying a feast at our mourning table!
We must hide our God in dark closets!
by Amad Shamloo
translation: Mahvash Shahegh & dan Newsome