I have become like my grandmother
an old pelisse with precious stones;
Like my mother
when she was making father fall in love;
Like women with long legs
behind the negotiation tables
when they end the war.
A wider range
When I scream
it’s as if a pit in my voice descends;
has a wider range;
A dungeon where dead women sing inside me
and my husband,
a man who has been with me for years.
and no word is kind
I turn around, turn around
so that I leave this circuit.
and man is more transparent in silence.
and clock needles, which will shatter man.
a grief which is stuck in snow up to its waist
a ladder that was leaning against the wall
and had great thoughts.
Sadness brewed in this room
will sicken man.
Where are my narcotics ?
Folded paper monies were under the rug
and the wind was just breaking the neighbor's vase.
The wind came,
turned around the house!
broke the vases
tore down the curtains and took me away.
Fatemeh Akhavan was born in Mashhad, Iran (January 25th 1982) and holds a BA in the field of Educational Science from Payam Noor University ofMashhad. Some of Fatemeh’s poems are published in Anthology Book with the name "Horses do not wear scarves" by Reza Boroosan.