Dressed in the misery of exile
In this unforeseen frosty winter
I witness how my sighs slumber
Freezing into spotless snowflakes.
As I walk on a snowy roadside,
Liberty-crowned, in wreaths of longing,
Nostalgia wreaking havoc in me
A razor emerges in my heart.
I become a frail flower of ice
Blown by Goddess’ balmy breath,
Shattering into pieces and back.
For, I have a razor in my heart.
Longing for Mother Iran’s bosom,
Mum of Homeland burns with blaze of wrath
Graves grip pictures of the fallen,
Souls of the dead cart thought of justice
To the mouth of children as core food
I soak my dream-scorched brain with tears
For, I have a razor in my heart.
I measure not the weight of sorrow
Against the weight of never knowing
I let the existential questions
Rise and fall away like a wild wind
Outside of the steel cycle of time
A blood-spattered white rose blooms
In eternity’s infinite palm,
For, I have a razor in my heart.
The sea of unknowing laps against
The wall of small pleasures that holds
The Sirens’ lure of suicide back, though
I do have a razor in my heart!
