Forough Farrokhzad

26 posts

Forough Farrokhzad

Forough Farrokhzad

@ForoughFarrokh

Iranian modernist poet, b. 5th Jan 1935, d. 14th Feb 1967. Probably the most famous woman in the history of Persian literature.

Katılım Nisan 2012
30 Takip Edilen104 Takipçiler
Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
Come to the meadow, the grand meadow and call me, from behind the breaths of silk-tasselled acacias just like the deer calls its mate.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
I am talking about our loving hands which have built across nights a bridge of the message of perfume and light and breeze.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
I am not talking about timorous whispering in the dark. I am talking about daytime and open windows and fresh air.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
...in the embarrassed look of a nameless flower, and we found permanence in an endless moment when two suns stared at each other.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
Everyone knows, everyone knows we have found our way into the cold quiet dream of phoenixes: we found truth in the garden...
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
There is an alley, where the boys who were in love with me, still loiter with the same unkempt hair, thin necks and bony legs
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
and the young eagles on that strange overwhelming mountain what should be done.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
We asked wild rabbits one night in that green flowing forest and shells full of pearls in that turbulent cold-blooded sea
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
...like fish scales in the water. I am talking about the silvery life of a song which a small fountain sings at dawn.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
I'm talking about my fortunate tresses with the burnt anemone of your kiss and the intimacy of our bodies and the glow of our nakedness...
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
I am not talking about the flimsy linking of two names and embracing in the old pages of a ledger.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
Everyone is afraid everyone is afraid, but you and I joined with the lamp and water and mirror and we were not afraid.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
...and that we have plucked the apple from that playful, hard to reach branch.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
Everyone knows, everyone knows that you and I have seen the garden from that cold sullen window...
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
Life is perhaps lighting up a cigarette in the narcotic repose between two love-makings...
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
Life is perhaps a child returning home from school.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
Life is perhaps a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
Life is perhaps a long street through which a woman holding a basket passes every day.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
My lot is a sad promenade in the garden of memories and dying in the grief of a voice that tells me I love your hands.
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Forough Farrokhzad
Forough Farrokhzad@ForoughFarrokh·
My lot is going down a flight of disused stairs to regain something amid putrefaction and nostalgia.
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