Below is a fragment of one of our poetic masterpices translated into English by an unscrupulous person. Can you guess the original Farsi poem?
The door of eve’s first watch,
in the room like lonesome insight, the porcelain woman
inside her head frightening reflections catch faraway, she thinks:
“slaves to powerlessness who turn to wine the wall of the town chief
everyone of them to whom life has given the pluck of the whip’s fire beneath the rubble
his disobedient lot is secret in the wall layer.”
(Might win second prize as an original surreal English verse.)