In Night's Cold Streets

I don't repent,
thinking of this resignation, this pained surrender.
I've kissed my life's cross
on the hills of my execution.

In night's cold streets
couples always part
hesitantly.
In night's cold streets
there are no sounds, just voices
calling Goodbye, goodbye.

I don't repent.
It's as if my heart flows
on the other side of time.
Life will echo my heart,
and the dandelion seeds sailing
the wind's lakes will re-create me.

Do you see how my skin
is cracking wide?
How milk forms
in my breast's cold blue veins?
How blood begins to form sinew
in my patient loins?

I am you, you,
and one who loves,
one who suddenly finds in herself
a dumb grafting to a thousand strange unknowns.
I'm the earth's ferocious lust
sucking all the waters in
to impregnate the fields.

Listen to my distant voice
in the heavy mist of dawn's prayer chants,
and in silent mirrors see how
with what is left of my hands
I touch, once more, all dreams' innermost dark,
and imprint my heart like a bloodstain
on life's innocent riches.

I don't repent.
Darling, speak to me
of another me
with the same lovesick eyes
whom you'll find again in the cold streets of night.
And think of me in her sad kiss
on the sweet lines beneath your eyes.

Copyright © 2007 Forugh Farrokhzad, translated by Sholeh Wolpé All rights reserved
from Sin
University of Arkansas Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission