During the night the moon rose
As high as my forehead, but fear
Was a stone in the pathway of my thoughts,
Black-cloaked fear: it’s filled my heart
With curses.

Oh, slap-ridden justice,
I swear to all the truths you know.
If you ever creep over the old roofs
Send my regards to the other side,
To that unknowable land,
And whisper in the bosom
Of the shameless sky
That there was a human here
Struggling to live through war,
Say that his lips were the echoes
Of his words, that his words were
The sound of his insurgence
Tell them: his lips were sewn
By the law and the law
Pronounced him dead

Author Photo of Babak Sahranavard

About the Author

Babak Sahranavard is a Kurdish poet and translator living in Iran.