From the memory of olden- days

[Mohammad Ahmad]

From the memory of olden- days


Behind my curtain, I felt warmed
As an angelic hand wrapped me
To see a sparrow pecks suddenly
My window is smashed as my bones
While seeing that flick comes down
Tapping inside my heart as a rigor
And with every step I got paralyzed
To hear an intimate voice reviving me
Of a mother still loyal to her identity
You boy yet are not woken up?
Your steed has gone out willingly
Nothing to feed so animals would flee
And that sun is of a yesterday night
And your face was cold as that coldest sun
What shall we eat if rain does not come?
A merciless time had to run
Even the mill would not grind
As my crutch that has been stolen
Our firewood is less tangling as those milkwort herbs
And you son, you might go out
Perhaps to find our calf that was newly born
O, son you may help me; I am alone
Your father was died on our extremist year
To bless the bestowal of our mad sun
And thus you man are my open-eye
Look the balcony is out of guest
And our tree looked tired and dry
Since your father closed his mouth
Forgetting us would never say goodby