Bee

Saturday, March 17, 2007

The fish

I don't suppose
my heart was everwarm and redlike this before.
I sense that
in the worst moments of this black,
death-feeding repast
a thousand thousand well-springs of sunlight,
stemming from certitude,well up in my heart.
I sense, further, that
in every nook and cranny of this salt barrenness of despair
a thousand thousand joy forests,
stemming from the soil,
are suddenly springing.
Oh, lost certitude, oh, sea-creature
fleeing in the concentric,
shivering,
mirroring pools,
I am the clear pool:
mesmerized by love,
search out a path for meamong the mirror pools.
I don't thinkmy hand was everstrong and alivelike this, before.
I sense that
at the flow of blood-red tears in my eyesa duskless sun pours forth a song.
I sense that
in my every vein,in time with my every heart beat,the warning bell of a departing caravan tolls.
She, bare, came
one evening
through the doorlike the soul of water.
At her breast
two fishIn her hand a mirror
Her wet hair,
moss fragrance, intertwined moss.
On the threshold of despair,
I bellowed: Ah, oh retrieved certitude.
I won't put you again aside.

Ahmad shamlou(persian poet)