Later On
Forugh Farrokhzad
My death will come someday to me
One day in spring, bright and lovely
One winter day, dusty, distant
One empty autumn day, devoid of joy.
My death will come someday to me
One bittersweet day, like all my days
One hollow day like the one past
Shadow of today or of tomorrow.
My eyes tune to half dark hallways
My cheeks resemble cold, pale marble
Suddenly sleep creeps over me
I become empty of all painful cries.
Slowly my hands slide o’er my notes
Delivered from poetry’s spell,
I recall that once in my hands
I held the flaming blood of poetry.
The earth invites me into its arms,
Folks gather to entomb me there
Perhaps at midnight my lovers
Place above me wreaths of many roses.
Translated by Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak
Forugh Farrokhzad - Forugh Farrokhzad (1934 - 1967.) attracted much attention and considerable disapproval in Iran. Unlike her female predecessors, Farrokhzad had a poetic voice that was and remains. She clearly voices her feelings, and her own situation as a wife and mother no longer able to live a conventional life in such poems as "The Captive," "The Wedding Band," "Call to Arms," and "To My Sister."
