The wise man told: ” man should go for what he deserves..”
So, I migrated to the land of her body curves
Since then, my fingertips don’t touch, they do kiss
When they felt this exile is a heavenly bliss
She asked me if I could remember my hands
When they were young in their own lands
Then, this memoire came out of nowhere
I was just twelve, when I could feel for Baudelaire
I could feel for Baudelaire, we were not rivals
But both in love with “Marguerite”
She was extremely cold, pale and white
She was hidden somewhere in the bookcase tight
“Bongahe tarjomeh va nashre ketab”
“Ghobare classicism labelaaie aftab”
In her portrait, Marguerite was so cold
Cold, as Baudelaire rightfully had told
In the cold, dark and that ‘literal corner’
My virgin hands committed the first jerk off ever
Words were heavy, and so was my breath
My hands were clumsy, at the same time avid…
Now, while in exile my hands are old
No more Marguerites, but words in bold…
Post-script: When I was around my eleven or twelve, I became first encountered with sexual signs of my puberty. I was really confused and could not find answers for some of those signs. My parents perhaps were not enough aware of my somewhat premature puberty. I grew up in a relatively religious family, yet my father had a good collection of classical western books in a huge bookcase. I remember I accidentally found and became interested in a book of poetry by Charles Baudelaire, named as “Golhaaye badi” (The Flowers of Evil). A hard-cover book translated to Farsi by someone I don’t remember. Most importantly, the book was illustrated by a handful of water-colored pictures of semi-nude women in classical 19th Century profiles. Some of them were more than semi-nude. Believe it or not, in the post-revolution era and the time when the sexuality was a horrible taboo, I hid the book for some personal use! Of the particular subject of interest, was the picture of a young woman called ‘Marguerite’. I believe Baudelaire had addressed her in his poetry in several occasions. I even remember some verses from that poem which was describing her pale and white body. I think I committed my first masturbation ever by this picture. But at the same time I fell in love with this picture/women, both in erotic and romantic sense. I was just naïve and excited.
At the same time, I gradually became interested in the literal content of the book and then it became my first experience of getting to know the literature with a serious look. There’s no shame in me to describe this experience. I owe Marguerite and I owe Baudelaire for allowing me to explore myself through the both venues. I came to terms of understanding that I’ve found passion for literature and knowing it along side with my curiosity for sexuality. If I validate that analogy, I can not tell you that I practically could go through of only one of them. Innnnnnnnnnnn depth.
