Here is my attempt at rendering Hila Sedighi’s poem in English. I prefer the word “render” instead of ”translate” since these words are not always the literal meanings of the original. And of course some ideas are lost; for example autumn carries the meaning of sadness and while the word for the first month of school, “Mehr”, has its roots in Zoroastrianism, it also means kindness in Persian. I have not retained the meter of her poem and I have taken some liberty with how the verses are grouped – the original is in the form of a Persian “ghazal” which has a particular rhyme. The following should be read as a partially rhythmic prose which hopefully hints at the essence of her thoughts.
It’s a restless, desperate poem as clearly visible from her delivery and demeanor, whether or not one understands Persian.
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the scent of rain, season of autumn
sky choked up bursting with sorrow
cloud on its knees
as if broken by the summer’s hot iron
the scent of school, the air of letters
sound of first bell, hard and sharp
sentence for forbidden laughs, for harmless fun and play
our youthful zeal met with wrath and slander
the first of Mehr has come
my mind full with fond moments
the classroom, empty without you
only me and the wilted flowers upon a desk
the scent of autumn, I’m drenched in tears
the scent of autumn, I’m drenched in tears
imprisoned by anger within
what a joyful fate we’d dreamt
watched as all just swept away
what a world, what a dreamy road
what a search for revelation
our kind was never meant to fly
captured in falcon’s grasp
the same falcon who with its thorn-tipped claw
killed you right before my eyes
he vanquished all hope
he ripped apart our clenched hands
you drank the cup of poison
and suddenly flew from my side
I swear by every kernel of a mother’s tears
by every immortal creed
by every drop of love’s blood
by the burn of bodies in bondage
my soul shattered in a hundred pieces and fell to earth
my heart slashed a hundred times, I ache for you
tell me, tell me, the place you went, are you happy?
on that side of life, are you free?
the scent of youth, do you remember that?
is the love of country in your thoughts?
tell me, the place you went, is there injustice?
is an axe the fate of green cypress trees?
is there not a thief who robs your mind?
is there not a rape of your pride?
is there word of unmarked graves?
is there sound of mothers’ wails?
cry out, my pain-sake, my kind, my journey-mate
cry out my poem with desire and sigh
it’s the first of Mehr and autumn once more
sky choked up bursting with sorrow
only me and a desk empty without you
and the flowers wilted upon that desk
the City 