THE WHORE – Ayub Khavar / Translated by Muhammad Shanazar

Poem by Ayub Khavar

 

THE WHORE

This darkness
Of the room why doesn’t become darker?
Memories of the past flicker on the walls,
In such a glare as the eyes don’t close.
The sleep of centuries,
Stands at the threshold of mind,
Stitching new dreams on the hem,
Of a shameless half exposing dress, like a whore’s.
Bracelet of wild promises on the milky wrist,
Gold snake around the goblet-shaped neck,
Tingle of lascivious smile leaping on the
Splendid lips.
A disk of moon on the forehead
Ornaments with glimmering of jade,
Swaying, inviting pendants on the lobes,
And chinking rings clinging around the ankles.
Who knows how long has been impatient to come in.

But the walls and doors,
And everything in the room,
Chair, table, paper and pen,
The bower of gazals, the forest of poems,
To each tree of the forest,
Fireflies are clinging like leaves.
And like these fireflies,
The twinkling glow of your eyes doesn’t fade.
How murkiness of the room
Should become darker!
How these eyes should close in such darkness!
How shall this whore hide itself?
In the corneas, behind the wonder laden lashes
Unless the darkness becomes darker,
Unless all your reflections,
Imprisoned in each object of the room grow dim.
This whore, late at night,
When reaches me after distributing
Dreams among the exhausted eyes,
Of inhabitants of the world,
It stands at the threshold of my mind;
Keeps on knocking, and begs permission
To come into, but
What miracle has happened?
In the dim darkness of the room,
Between sleep and wonder-laden lashes,
Fireflies of your eyes,
A chamber of carved mirrors
.O! God!

 


Translated by Muhammad Shanazar

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