I feel sad,
I feel blue.
I go outside and rub my cold fingers-
on the sleek shell of the silent night.
I see that all lights of contact are dark,
All lanes to relate us- are blocked.
Nobody will introduce me to the sun,
Nobody will take me- to the gathering of doves.
Keep the flight in mind,
The bird may die.
Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani, September 2006, Montreal
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