Shataw Naseri



how shall i tell my pains

how shall i tell my pains
when i am still a ghost wandering
among the ruined tombs of ...
my ghostly dreams and wishes
how shall i retell my wounds
when i go back home every night
my hand in my ghost's hand
rolling and romping
among the dead rooms of my saintly home
seeing my mother in the kitchen cooking
and my sister in the living room
sewing with a ghostly machine
how shall i cry my laceration
when i still wander in the attic
dusting my books and writings
with no body and no paper
how shall i scream for my tears
when i still look out of the window
with a ghostly sun shining upon a ghostly farm
how shall i open my horrorful wounds
when i see the flowers of the ghostly
curtain of my ghostly room
smiling at my pale and waning face
full of sorrow and sadness
and my body with no eye and heart
let me go back to the graveyard
and lie quiet at my ghostly tomb
there, is my silent destiny
full of peace and pain.



ask the streets and alleys

ask the streets and alleys
of the dark parts of the city
if you want to feel
the sadness with which
i water all the nights
of the solitary shadows of
my solitary dreams
ask the streets and alleys
as they have counted
every one of my shrieking steps
at the very fading threshold of
my madness
ask them
as they are tired of counting
my swollen steps
and since they are mourning for the torn shoes
of my poor wishes
in the midst of the weary garden of my youth
ask the streets and alleys
if you want to feel the depth of my laments
for the withering spring of my doomed tears.
ask them
they will tell you everything
and do not ask me
since my words are destined
to fade as they are born
from the womb of my torn tongue.


i am sitting


i am sitting
in front of the window
with a cup of coffee in my right hand...
and looking at the footprints
of a crow in the snow, regular
which implies nothing, just a crow
that can be black or white
who cares?
i am looking too at the footprints
of the humankind, irregular and chaotic
which imply nothing and mean “something"
which can be full of hallucinatory reason
that aim to organize the world
and make it chaotic
like their own footprints.




Shataw Naseri is an Iranian and Kurd.

She was born in Sanandaj, Kurdistan in 1985 and now she is a journalist.

She has M.A. in English literature from Shahid Beheshti University (the best Iranian university for English Literature) in Tehran.

She loves Romantic literature especially Byron.
 
 
previous page     contents     next page