Dedicated to One Of Greatest Poets Of Persia "Sohrab Sepehri

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  • edicated to One Of Greatest poet Of Persia "Sohrab Sepehri" Translation: I wonder Why a horse is a noble animal, and a dove is lovely And why no on pets a vulture. I wonder why a clover is inferior to a red tulip. We need to rinse our eyes, and view things differently. We should wash our words To be both wind and rain. We should close our umbrellas Walk in the rain Take Mind and Memory in the rain Walk in the rain with all the townsfolk Meet friends in the rain Seek love in the rain Make love to a woman in the rain Play in the rain Write, speak, and plant lotus flowers in the rain. Life is a perpetual soaking. Life is bathing in the Pond of Now. Let's take off our clothes Water is one step off. Let's taste light Weigh the night of a village, the sleep of a gazelle. Let's fathom the warmth of a stork's nest. Let's not tread on the Law of Grass. Let's delight our palate in the vineyard And open our mouths when the moon rises. Let's not say the night is a foul thing Or the glow-worm is ignorant of the garden's insight. Let's fetch baskets And fill them with all these reds and greens. Let's eat bread and mellow for breakfast. Let's plant a sapling in every pitch of each sentence. And sow Seeds of Silence between two syllables. Let's not read a wind-free book And the book in which the skin of dew is not wet And the book in which the cells are dimension-free. Let's not wish the fly scared off the Fingertips of Nature. Let's not wish the panther wiped away from Creation. Life would lack something with no worms. The laws of tree would suffer without caterpillars. Our hands would seek something if there was no death. The Living Logic of Flight would alter if there was no light. There was a void in the mind of the seas before seaweed emerged. Let's not ask where we are. Let's smell the fresh hospital petunias. Let's not ask where the Fountain of Fortune is Why the Heart of Truth is blue What a night, what a breeze our forefathers experienced. Behind us is no living space. Behind us is no singing bird. Behind us is no blowing wind. Behind us the Green Window of the Poplar is closed. Behind us the children's windmills gather dust. Behind us the Memory of Waves pours the cold
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