POETRY

Sa'di[2] called death a wolf

Who snatches sheep at every moment

From the herd of the village.

But I saw you, on that white bed

Lying like a feather-plucked bird

With closed wings and browned skin,

And death like a hungry traveler

Sitting before a white tablecloth

With silver knife and fork in hand

And a red glass on the side.

I opened the curtain and said:

"What are you waiting for, death?

Have your dinner and go away."

Last night at your bed

While holding your burning hand

And listening to the breathing pump

I heard the heavy footsteps of death

In the hallway of the nursing home

And whispered in your ear:

"Be calm, Let your body go

This flesh and these bones will be his share

And your immortal stories

Will belong to the living."

Then death knocked on the door

And I hurried to hide myself

Behind the white curtain.

October 27, 2008

[1] Bijan K. Moghadam (1948-2008) One of the best Iranian writers of short stories in exile and a member of the literary circle of "Saturday's Notebooks" in Los Angeles. He has two books in Persian: "rahbandan" (Traffic Jam)1989  and "khab-e magas" (Fly Dream) 2008. Bijan has left behind a son and a daughter.

[2] Sa'di, a great Persian poet in thirteenth century.