At the end of this Earth,
the spot- the roots of the sands–
in safety rely- on a counterfeit dearth,
the spot- the roots of the sands–
in safety rely- on a counterfeit dearth,
and a deceitful shortage,
like a dancing mirage,
There is a cottage.
At the end of this Earth,
there stands a cottage.
***&***
Somewhere,
about the fence slicing this Earth,
splitting the divine and men,
there sits a cottage.
There,
the wind slides–
on the shady ladder of the lodge–
and sweeps all the marble stairs–
opening to my frozen flare.
There,
the pilgrims carry–
their checkered attires, bare-feet,
barefeet and singing, to the altar.
***&***
My abode,
is at the end of the world,
beside the fence between the dusts-
and the void.
Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani, January 2009, Montréal.
like a dancing mirage,
There is a cottage.
At the end of this Earth,
there stands a cottage.
***&***
Somewhere,
about the fence slicing this Earth,
splitting the divine and men,
there sits a cottage.
There,
the wind slides–
on the shady ladder of the lodge–
and sweeps all the marble stairs–
opening to my frozen flare.
There,
the pilgrims carry–
their checkered attires, bare-feet,
barefeet and singing, to the altar.
***&***
My abode,
is at the end of the world,
beside the fence between the dusts-
and the void.
Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani, January 2009, Montréal.
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