Шишаи холии атр
Бӯи андӯҳи ғуруб
Қаламҳои рангӣ
Гӯшимоҳии Бройтун(1) таҳи як қуллаки санг
Мани сангӣ аз ҳузури сахту дардноки ҳама хотираҳо
Даври гардан ҳалқаҳои дуд меандозам.
Сурфа – таъйиди ҳузури гӯшу овози абус
Сути(2) парвози садову зарбаи муҳри сукут
Бар лаби ин ҳама девори пушаймону хамӯш,
Ки туро меҷӯяд.
Савсани коғази Меҳрнӯшу гули дасти Анӯш
Аспу шеру ғӯли мурдобии филм(3)
Рӯи девори утоқча
Рӯи шиша, гӯшаи ойинаи пурхотира
Зери болиш, рӯи тоқча
Лои(4) як дафтари куҳна, ки пур аз зарбу тарҳу тақсим аст
Ҳама ҳайрону парешон
Ёди Гулҳои маро мебӯяд.
Тораи мӯи гирифтор васати шонаи чӯбӣ
Тараки(5) дастаи финҷон – ёдгори шаби пойкӯбию шодӣ
Лаккаву чарбии бозмонда ба умқи моҳитоба(6)
Нисфи бутрӣ(7) Шордуней(8)
Аз шаби охири дидор...
Ҳавлаи(9) сурхи кашида рӯи девори вурудӣ
Кифи фарсудаи мишкӣ(10), ки нахостишу набурдӣ
Копшани ҷир(11) – ёдгори шабе боронӣ дар Ландан,
Ки ҳар ду ларзидем…
Сиккаҳои(12) зарду сурбӣ
Дираму круну пенсу сенту купейк –
Солшумори ғурбату дарбадарӣ -
Тиккаҳои зиндагимон, ки ба ҳам дӯхта нашуд
Рӯи миз парту парешон бӯи ғурбат медиҳад.
Дар дили ман
Печаки зарди ҷудоӣ аз шумо мерӯяд
Қалами ман
Аз ҳадиси ғурбати талхи шумо мегӯяд
Мушкили ман
Уқдаи(13) найлабаки кӯлии(14) бемақсуд аст
Қадами ман
Роҳи паймудаи мо бори дигар мепӯяд.
___________________________________
1 Brighton, шаҳре дар ҷануби шарқи Инглис
2 “свист”, ҳушток
3 Shrek
4 байни..., миёни...
5 таркидагӣ, порагии шиша
6 лайлоға
7 "бутылка"
8 Chardonnay, як навъ шароби фаронсавӣ
9 Дастмол, “сачоқ”
10 Сиёҳ
11 "Замшевая куртка"
12 Танга
13 Гиреҳ
14 Ҷӯгӣ, лӯлӣ
شيشه خالی عطر
بوی اندوه غروب
قلمهای رنگی
گوش ماهی "برايتون" ته يک قلک سنگ
من سنگی
از حضور سخت و دردناک همه خاطره ها
دور گردن حلقه های دود می اندازم
سرفه، تاييد حضور گوش و آواز عبوس
سوت پرواز صدا و ضربه مهر سکوت
بر لب اين همه ديوار پشيمان و خموش
که تو را می جويد.
سوسن کاغذ مهرنوش و گل دست انوش
اسب و شير و غول مردابی فيلم
روی ديوار اتاقچه
روی شيشه، گوشه آيينه پرخاطره
زير بالش، روی طاقچه
لای يک دفتر کهنه که پر از ضرب و طرح و تقسيم است
همه حيران و پريشان
ياد گلهای مرا می بويد.
تاره موی گرفتار وسط شانه چوبی
ترک دسته فنجان – يادگار شب پايکوبی و شادی
لکه و چربی بازمانده به عمق ماهی تابه
نصف بطری، شاردونی
از شب آخر ديدار...
حوله سرخ کشيده روی ديوار ورودی
کيف فرسوده مشکی که نخواستيش و نبردی
تلويزيون خسته از خاموشی
پيچ راديوی خفه در انتظار لمس انگشت های تو
کفش مشکی دوشنبه ای خزيده روی هم
کاپشن جير – يادگار شبی بارانی در لندن
که هر دو لرزيديم...
سکه های زرد و سربی
درم و کرون و پنس و سنت و کوپيک -
سالشمار غربت و دربدری -
تکه های زندگی مان که به هم دوخته نشد
روی ميز، پرت و پريشان بوی غربت می دهد.
در دل من
پيچک زرد جدايی از شما می رويد
قلم من
از حديث غربت تلخ شما می گويد
مشکل من
عقده نی لبک کولی بی مقصود است
قدم من
راه پيموده ما بار دگر می پويد.
020807
London
10 comments:
beautiful poem, Darius! Made my day!
Someone near Amici
D the poem too sad
Poetry is always sad, that's what makes it beautiful. It is in fact makes you to pause and reflect...
Sorry, Anon 2, for saddening you with my sad ranting. That was the reflexion of a sad moment of life indeed. Thanks Anon 1 & 3. I wish I could know your names, cuz your hints keep my mind busy guessing if by Amici you meant a cafe in London's Strand or Amici as friendship in Italian or... but in vain. lol. It's absolutely up to you though. Just couldn't zip up my curiosity. I wish you all the best,
D
Very beauty Gharibaneh.
"Қалами ман
Аз ҳадиси ғурбати талхи шумо мегӯяд
Қадами ман
Роҳи паймудаи мо бори дигар мепӯяд."
And Homeless for ever?
It is so weak and the title is wrong one. It is not Ghariboneh, but Mastoneh. I could not see the place that is nostalgic for you. I see your table in a room where you are a bit unhappy starring at different things...
The only strong part is about coins, but still you could change them into one currency. That is why the coins could not be compared to the rugged life. Please, continue thinking about all these things and you could come out with more strong and worthwhile piece. Otherwise that is nothing at all. You started perfectly, you are in the right direction, however, did not prevailed hardship and want to find an easier road, although it is not for you...
Dear Anonymous 5,
I don’t know how to name you as you apparently could not decide to introduce yourself. But I dare you to do so, since I am really grateful for your critical view. Criticism is an essential eye-opener for an author.
I do agree with you that my so called “poem” is a feeble piece of poetry, but to me it’s not a poem at all. To me it’s a strong try of expression. And perhaps, you are not its reader. It has been written on a special day; but the day was special solely to me and my family and I published my thoughts in my personal weblog.
There are many things in the piece that you might not understand and the table that you see is actually not just a table and its content and stuff all around the flat are not just what they seem to be. That table could be interpreted as the world we’ve walked through. Each detail of it indicates to a swathe of our “common” journey (I and my family), that was supposed to be common, but all the time we had to go separate ways.
Thus, even a half-empty bottle of Chardonnay doesn’t make the piece “mastaneh”. The very bottle is feeling “gharibaneh” left behind by her again and all other things mentioned in the piece are feeling “gharibaneh” in their (the family’s) absence. Surrounded by “gharibaneh” stuff and awash with “gharibaneh” feelings I could not feel “mastaneh” indeed.
Now you presumably understand why I used so many currencies instead of one that you suggest. Those coins are not the embodiment of my “rugged life”. If I wanted to express that meaning I would have rather used banknotes instead. Each of the currencies signifies a country she's lived in, hence I am thinking of her and their endurance of “ghorbat”, and I would not call the feeling “nostalgia” that truly does not make sense in this piece.
Anyhow, I’m truly obliged to you for your view. I’ll be even more grateful if you come out of the dark and introduce yourself next time.
Cheerio,
D
I am sorry, I was not intended to hurt you and just shared my opinion. It is really a nice poem, but as you mentioned yourself it is so personal, I must say deeply personal, and need some work to be a poem that could reflect pain of many others who are also in your situation.
Why we are in a such a situation? Were we fled our beloved Motherland? Are we exiled? Who is responsible? How big and deep the pain of exile?
Again, I am looking like imposing my view, sorry. It is a good poem, since forced me to think about all these staff...
The problem is that we both seeing the same things thinking about our own life. As the author you have an advantage to rule, as a reader I have a right to reply.
If you do not like me to enter your blog that I found accidentally surfing on the net, I must obey your wish.
Thanks a lot. It was an interesting journey.
No, dear whoever you are. You don't have to be sorry for speaking out your view, of course. And you don't have to be annoyed to hear my reply. I just wanted to raise the curtain a bit higher into my internal world on that day. And as I said earlier, I don't even consider it a poem. I've just tried to express myself and my environment on that day.
The doors of this blog are always open to you and any other surfer of the net.
All the best,
D
Тораи мӯи гирифтор васати шонаи чӯбӣ...
That is excellent! We all are like a sting of hair stained among pikes of the life...
Dear Darius,
please do not try to know who am I. I am not your enemy, but if not a friend, but a friendly soul.
I wish you all the best. You know only pain and death are real. You know the pain and it is good. You are not an empty body...
Write more and more...
I always have been checking your lovely blog.
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