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Gedicht

Rosa Jamali

The bull year

1

The mouse is a sharp vessel of me singing
The tigers are mute
Their claws clinging smoothly to the snow


2


It was dark
A metal shape            
And slippery on the ice
It was totally dark

The creased moon walked on my shadow
I’ve buried the fish
The ancient memories hanging from the ceiling

Keep going
For centuries
On a talking mask,
Mimes and gestures form

The avalanche
Broken latticed twigs
Origami
Left with the wind
And totally forgotten


3


The glass coffin behind the window
Time is lingering on me
The shadow on the pot

Shivering on the window

I’ve buried yesterday
My fingers don’t move
They gripped the time

No end for the clouds
The lines are completely dark
The mirror walked into me

It’s chewed the buttons of my dress

A flock of crows flying
The earth is a worn-out corridor

A mass of ants invaded my house
It’s been raining for seven hundred years
A blind person is on the way
And this year is a bull year . . .


4


The rabbit coming from the left
Has made love with the white snow

It’s had bloody intercourse,
The rabbit leaving my veins

THE BULL YEAR

Rosa Jamali

Rosa Jamali

(Iran, 1977)

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Close

THE BULL YEAR

The bull year

1

The mouse is a sharp vessel of me singing
The tigers are mute
Their claws clinging smoothly to the snow


2


It was dark
A metal shape            
And slippery on the ice
It was totally dark

The creased moon walked on my shadow
I’ve buried the fish
The ancient memories hanging from the ceiling

Keep going
For centuries
On a talking mask,
Mimes and gestures form

The avalanche
Broken latticed twigs
Origami
Left with the wind
And totally forgotten


3


The glass coffin behind the window
Time is lingering on me
The shadow on the pot

Shivering on the window

I’ve buried yesterday
My fingers don’t move
They gripped the time

No end for the clouds
The lines are completely dark
The mirror walked into me

It’s chewed the buttons of my dress

A flock of crows flying
The earth is a worn-out corridor

A mass of ants invaded my house
It’s been raining for seven hundred years
A blind person is on the way
And this year is a bull year . . .


4


The rabbit coming from the left
Has made love with the white snow

It’s had bloody intercourse,
The rabbit leaving my veins
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