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...

 

With shame, one can hide a beautiful moment

like a dark, comic instant photo

rammed deep into a wooden chest.

 

Inside a day’s empty frame one can mount

the portrait of a condemned, a vanquished,

a crucified. Cover the gaps in the walls

with silly, meaningless drawings.

 

Like a wind-up doll one can lookout

at the world through glass eyes,

spend years inside a felt box,

body stuffed with straw,

wrapped n layers of dainty lace.

 

With every salacious squeeze of one’s hand,

for no reason one cry:

Ah, how blessed, how happy I am! 

( WidUp Doll by Persian poet Forugh Farrokhzad.)

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