Shataw Naseri


Casablanca

I love the way 
You fly away 
With the best moment
Of your rotten life
And I love the way
With my sooty self 
Smoking
And lost
In a gloomy garment
And floating in the
Murky maze 
Of dejected time
With a hazy pistol 
In my hand
To shoot 
The showery past
Or to stroll 
Hand in hand
With the worst moment
Of my smoggy life
And to dream of 
Saying farewell
In that rainy station 
Where
I loved the way
You gambled away
With the best moment 
Of your rotten life.



Death in Venice

Last night in Venice,
In some stormy lands of my memory,
I saw you there, wearing a virtual gloomy garment,
And playing in the ghostly sands
And splashing water 
On the foggy beach of the crystal sea.
You were there,
Past and present, 
Being and becoming
And I was there, too,
Grasping a creaky pipe in my weary hand
And fixing my gaze on you 
As I feared you may pop out
From the dreamy fields of my memory.
I was there, wearing a dusky cape
In that wistful rainy night,
And sitting on a cracked chair
Moving backward and forward.
I was there, 
My sights full of silvery dews,
My dear beloved image,
But the most appalling thing was
That I could not find 
Whether you were myself
Or a pale statue 
On the faraway lands of my memory.  

Shataw Naseri is a Ph.D candidate in English literature. She was a journalist for five years and is currently a book translator and has so far translated two novels and some books on cinema and English Literary criticism into Persian.

 
 

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