CHEL

March 17, 2020

Chel is Shahin Najafi’s 12th album and the first track of this album was released on March 17, 2020.

Beshmar - 1st Track
Shahin Najafi: Music, Lyrics
Habib Meftah: Percussion, & Flute  
Babak Rezvani: Mixing & Mastering
Translation: Nick Rastin
Ali Baghban: Cover
Dyaloge Limited


بشمار
اولین قطعه از آلبوم چل


شعر درمون نیس دردیه معجون
  از غم و خشم  و جنون
معدوم
اونکه می‌بازه سر و تو هنر  پس
معلومه
محصول فاسد مزرعه حاصل کار یه مشت فاسده مقصود
پول
مشکوک
مسؤل
معشوق
مشتری
موردی مصرفی
دولت
مقروض
ملت
مغضوب
کاسب حرمت داره اونکه می‌دوشتت فرضش این که گاوی
گف نقشت چیه رهبری؟ گفتم نه بگو آقای راوی
چش و چالا از اسید له
بی‌چاره‌ای تو مسیر مه
مشق مرگ
اشک سرد
رد خون
رو ورق
پشت و نگاه نکن برنگردد
فامیلِ من بود اونکه بی‌جون تا پشت میله رفت و سر داد
تکلیف ما با خون تو خیابون روشن میشه سردار
نه بدن ضعیف از تزریق
نه بذل و بخشش نه تشویق
تاریخ بخونه شرح حال مارو
فردا بشنون این واژه‌هارو
بشمار
بشمار بدن بچه‌های بی‌کفن تو نیزار و
بشمار  صدای کارگر عزادار و
بشمار  گلوی بریده‌ی بی‌آزارو
بشمار


زندگی رو طناب ته دره ،این و اونو بنداز تا نیفتی
نصف دیگش زیر حلقه‌ی دار و ‌ بن بست بند و شام 
مفتی
فردا این جوجه زامبیا از تخم درآن شاخن برات
دستت داره دور گردنا اون دستا هم دارن برات


لیلامون بورسیه نداشت پدرش بیزنس روسیه نداشت
از جیب ضعفا نزد و خونه، مغازه و ارثیه نذاشت


محسن ما کف دستش خطخطی بود  از کار بی‌دستکش
...لات اجاره‌ای نبود خم شه کرنش کنه پیش هر
پیشکشتون سینه سوراخ استخونا شکسته سر گل داد
سیرِ به وقتش سهمشو خورد و گشنه رو جلو گلوله هل داد


سهم من یه باک بنزین شانس مدد کنه خرجی بدنت
صبر من تیز  رو زمین ضعیف کشتی خوردی زدنت
دستامون که گره شه به هم سیل بغض ملت رها شه
حکم ماس مشت اول انگشت وسط روی ماشه

نه وقت مرثیه پرثیه هست تفنگ و پر کن از  خشم کوچه
ترک تحصیل
 تلخ  تحقیر
طرد و تحمیل
بی صدا هارو  صدا کن
پاپتی‌های بی‌فردارو
بشمار  مغز پاشیده زیر پارو
بشمار گوله تو گلبرگ «پویا»رو
بشمار 
 خالد احمد رضا
 آرمین آرین حسام
ساسان نیکتا امیر پژمان میلاد عدنان مجبتی حسن کاوه یونس جبار سلمان عمران
پر کینه‌ام رو به دشمنی که غاصب آزادی منه

مسئله‌ی اول و آخر عدالت، آزادی میهنه
 

Count!
 

Poetry is not the remedy, it’s a pain, a mixture of

sorrow, rage and madness
One who loses their life in Art, is exterminated

Then it’s clear that
the rotten crop of the farm is the outcome of the labor of a bunch of corrupted

The aim (is the)
Money (which is)
suspicious
The responsible (is)
the beloved (who is the)
customer (who is)
utilized as disposable
The government (is)
indebted
The nation (is)
disfavored
The (real) tradesman has dignity, the one who milks (exploits) you, assumes that you’re a cow!

They asked what your rule is, are you a leader? I said no! Call me “Mr. Narrator”!
The eyes are chinked by acid
You are helpless in the misty road
Practicing dying
Cold tears
Bloodstain
on the paper
Don’t look back, don’t turn


They were of my family who feebly went behind the bars and lost their lives
Hey General! We’ll sort things out about the blood on the streets!
The body is not weak of (drug) injections
Don’t forget! Don’t forgive! Don’t encourage doing so!
The history shall read our story
They would hear these words


Count!
Count the coffin-less bodies in the canebrake!
Count the shouts of the mourning laborers!
Count the innocent throats which were cut!


Life is like a rope down the vale, shove the others down so that you won’t fall!
The rest of the rope is a gallows, a prison with
free meals!


Tomorrow these Zambi-Chickens will bully you, when they hatch from their eggs!
Your hands are gallows around the necks, these hands will have a plan (a gallows) for you too!

 

Our “Leila” had no scholarship, her father had no business with Russia
She didn’t rob the poor, she had neither property, nor inheritance
Our “Mohsen” had scars on his palms, because of laboring without gloves
He wasn’t a hired villain who bows before any ***


Dedicated to you a shot chest, the broken bones and a head which flowered (splattered)
The satiate one ate their share at its time and shoved the hungry one towards the bullets
My share is (just) a full petrol tank, if luck is on my side I would spend (splash) it on your body

My patience is (like) a knife on the ground, you killed the weak, (now) you’ll pay back!


When our hands become united fists, when the flood of people’s anger releases
Our verdict is the first punch, (and) the middle fingers on the triggers
It’s no time of mourning, load the gun with the rage of the street!
(You) dropped out of school
(You were) humiliated
(You were) rejected and imposed


Call the voiceless!
(Call) the homeless of tomorrow!


Count the splattered brains on the ground!
Count the bullets to “Pooyas”’s petal (body)!
Count!


“Khalid”, “Ahmad”, “Reza”
“Arian”, “Armin”, “Hesam”
“Sasan”, “Nikta”, “Amir”, “Pejman”, “Milad”, “Adnan”, “Mojtaba”

“Hasan”, “Kaveh”, “Yunus”, “Jabar”, “Salman”, “Omran” (1)

I’m full of grudge, facing the enemy who’s seizing my freedom

The first and last matter is justice, and homeland’s freedom

---
1. Names of some protesters who were killed recently by the Islamic government in Iran.


Translation: Nick Rastin

Sodom - 2nd Track of Chel Album

Shahin Najafi: Music, Lyrics
Habib Meftah: Percussion, & Flute  
Babak Rezvani: Mixing & Mastering, Guitar
Translation: Nick Rastin
Ali Baghban: Cover
Dyaloge Limited


سدوم


شرمنده اهل امید نیستم 
امید شهری بود که سوزوندنش
گفتن اهالیش مفید نیستن 
نمی‌ارزه جون کندنش
خاکی بود دوزار دهشی هرچی بود  بوی مامان داشت
بابا شکسته بود اما شکست نخورده بود  هنوز توان داشت
عصر طلایی این و اون نبود
  سختی بود نون نبود
هنوز رو بود اونقد که سود بده کار
مملکت شیرای پیر
گرگای جوون
جون‌ ارزون   آرزو گرون

آینده یعنی فردا پاشی پنجره‌های خونه سالم باشن
شب چشای کارگر پدر   با صدای آژیر پاشن
صف بربری شیر فاسد دلهره‌ی‌ طعم تلخ چک داداش
تخم دزدی غاز حامله  از لای سفیدیای پرهاش
پرخاش بود ولی مزه داش توی کوچه‌ی بچگی سنگ خوردن
آسمون کوتاه بود آویزوون کامیونا شدن و مردن
شست پات تو فوتبال بره از اجبار عشقش چپ پا شی
شب تو لباس  ملوان بخوابی و صب تو شورت آلمان پاشی 
 داغ
خشخاشی
  مث پوست بدن اولین دختر 
اولین  گناه بوسه
خوردن سیبای کوچیک کوثر
تو حیاط
یادت میاد
نامه‌های عاشقانه‌ی یه نیمچه شاعر شرور و عصبانی
تعبیر  معلمی که دوسش داشتم آقای قربانی
آب و باز کرد و دندون مصنوعیو‌ انداخت توی لیوان 
دارایی واقعیش اون بود از زندگی ساخت ایران
باز نشست تا بازنشستگی فرجی کنه توی قرضاش
باز  نشد چشاش و گره‌هاش جا مونده ازقلب قرصاش
چرا گریم گرفت؟
 گیرم لنگ پنجاه تومنی تو هم واسه شام
چرا گریم نگیره وقتی دستم بسته‌اس و بازه چشام؟
شرمنده اهل امید نیستم 
امید شهری بود که  نفس نداشت
خفگی رنگ سبز سپاهی بود
که واسه جوونی هوس نذاشت
من قرآن و خوب بلدم حافظ نیستم اما از حفظم
قرار بود که پشتم باشه و تحلیل برم توش بکنه حفظم
ولی لذت توی شعره که تخریب هم روح و هم جسممه
شاهین، دو شاه شکست خورده‌ی درونم  روی اسممه
تو مسیر تبعیدم خانی کردم تا شاه شم
حق با من بود تو این انتخاب سخت رضا یا میرزاشم نه؟
یا سرمو بزنه شاه یا شاه شمو سر بزنم
من هرچی بودم بنده‌ی ملتمس درگاه نشدمو پاشمو در بزنم
بچگی کردم و پاش موندم بزرگی به بزرگ‌سالی که نیس
گفتن: به کجا رسیدی؟ 
!موندم
به یه قلب ریش 
به چشای خیس
نه هنر ،سیاست و‌فلسفه بازی زشتی که بچه‌ جاش نیست
همسن انقلابی‌ام که شبیه هیچکدوم از بچه‌هاش نیست
مث اون پدر شهید که یه لنگه کفش میراث بچشه
تو خیالم هنوز جنگه و نگرانم پسرم کفش پاش نیست
بوی کافور و گلاب  پاهای سرد سردخونه آخر خط
بوی ناجور کباب پاهای زرد ترکیده‌ی ممد
قاتل نصف شهر موتور  بود و نصف دیگه روو عرق و مواد
تو دریا می‌شد غرق شی یا تو رویای یه زندگی شاد
به کجا رسیدم؟
 به پشت سبیلام
به دیسک وسیاتیک و بواسیر
به یه چشم خون به شهر ناامید
به مرگ تنهایی تو تبعید
ترسیدم
باد می‌بره آدمو
می‌برّه آدم
میترسیدم آینده چاه شه  نباشیم
یا اینکه بمیریم و دوباره توی این زندگی شوم پاشیم
بلعیدم آب و
نفس کشیدم تا قایق حراست رد شه
ماهی تو تور من 
ماهیگیر تو تور  خدا
ای خدا
رد شه
 

Sodom (1)

Sorry! I’m no fan of hope
Hope was a city, which they burned down They said its inhabitants are not utile
It’s not worth moiling (for it)

It was some soil, worthless, but at least had the Mom’s scent

Dad was broken, but not defeated yet, he had still power

 

It wasn’t the golden era of his and hers (Khomeini), there were adversity, but no bread

(But) it was clear that working would bring some benefits
The land of the old lions
Young wolves!

 

Life (was) cheap, desire (was) costly
The future means when you wake up tomorrow, the windows are still intact!

At night the laboring eyes of father awake with the (air raid) siren’s noise!

 

The long queue at the bakery, (then buying some) spoiled milk, anguished over the bitter taste of the brother’s slap (on my face)

Stealing an egg from a pregnant goose, right through her white feathers!

 

It was rough, but pleasurable, being hit by the stones (while playing) in the alley of childhood

The sky was falling down, hitching ride on the back of the lorries and die!

 

Losing your big toe in soccer, then become a left-footed player for your severe passion for it
You go to bed wearing “Malavan” ’s (2) jerseys, next morning you wake up wearing Germany’s shorts!

 

Hot
Poppy (bread)

Like the skin of the first girl
First sin, a kiss
Eating “Kowsar” ’s tiny apples (sucking her breasts) In the garden
Do you remember?

 

Romantic letters of a “rebellious frantic half-poet”!
(It was) the interpretation of a teacher whom I liked, Mr. “Ghorbani”

 

(He) opened the water (tap) and threw his dentures in the glass

It was his real property of the made-in-Iran life!

 

He went on retirement so that the pension would untie his debts’ Gordian knot!

The knots and his eyes weren’t opened, so he lagged behind the pills for his heart!

 

Why did I start crying? Supposedly you need five dollars for a meal
Why shouldn’t I start crying, when my hands are cuffed and my eyes are open?

 

Sorry! I’m no fan of hope
Hope was a breathless city
Suffocation had an Army green color (3),

which took the youth their passion away!

I know the Quran very well, I’m not “Hafez” (4) but I know (the story) by heart

It was supposed to back me up, then I’d dissolve in it, it’d protect me

But the delight is in the poetry, which is the demolition of my body and soul

“Shahin” (5), two defeated inner kings of mine, are in my name

On my exile path, I acted as a master to become a king

It was my right, through this tough choice, to be either “Reza” (6) or “Mirza” (7)

Either I should lean on King’s head or I shall become the king and cut the heads off!
Whoever I was, I neither became the supplicant servant in royal court nor I knocked the (palace) door

I was childish and insisted on it. To be an adult (great person) doesn’t depend on the age!

They asked: “What have you achieved so far?” I had nothing to say!
I’ve achieved a shredded heart
I’ve attained wet eyes

Not Art, not Politics and not Philosophy! They’re awful games, no place for kids

I’m the same age as the revolution, which isn’t alike its children
(I’m) like a martyr’s father, whose son’s leftover is just a lone shoe
I think the war goes on and I’m worried that my son has no shoes on!

The smell of camphor and rosewater, the cold feet in the morgue at the end of the road

The awful smell of “Mamad”’s blistered yellow feet

Motorcycle was the murderer of half of the town’s people, the other half were killed by booze and drugs

You could drown in sea or in the dream of a happy life!

Where have I reached so far? Well, (I’m) behind my mustache!

(I’ve achieved) the Slipped Discs, Sciatica and Hemorrhoid

(I’ve reached) the death, loneliness in exile

I feared
The wind takes you
You’d back down
I was worried (for you) that the future becomes a deep well, we disappear

Or we die and wake up again in this ominous life

I swallowed water
I breathed until the coastguard leaves

The fish in my net
The fisher in the God’s trawl
Oh, God!
I wish it’d go away!

---

1. The cities of “Sodom” and “Gomorrah” are mentioned in Torah, Bible and Quran which were destroyed by the will of God due to their Inhabitants’ great sins.

2. Malavan F.C is an Iranian football club based in Bandar-e Anzali, northern Iran.
3. Referring to the uniform color of the “Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps” (IRGC), which plays an

important role in suppression of civil protests in Iran.
4. A. Famous Persian poet (1315 – 1390) B. Someone who has completely memorized the Quran. 5. In Persian “Shah” means King. In Arabic the suffix “-in” (-ein) forms a dual noun (= two Kings).

6. “Reza Shah Pahlavi”, known as “Reza Khan” (15 March 1878 – 26 July 1944), was the King of Iran from 15 December 1925 until he was forced to abdicate by the Anglo-Soviet invasion of Iran on 16 September 1941.

7. “Mirza Kuchak Khan Jangali” (1880 – December 2, 1921) was an early twentieth century revolutionary leader who fought against the government forces led by colonel “Reza Khan” (the future Reza Shah Pahlavi).

Translation: Nick Rastin

Chel - 3rd Track of Chel Album

Shahin Najafi: Music, Lyrics
Habib Meftah: Percussion, & Flute  
Babak Rezvani: Mixing & Mastering, Guitar
Translation: Nick Rastin
Ali Baghban: Cover
Dyaloge Limited

چل

چم شده چل شدم

فکرم این بود که جهان وطنمه و بی مرزم توی نقشه
چل سالگی یه بلوغ شاعرانه اس که بدنش وطنت شه
بحران ناب هستی تو هیچ کتابی پیدا نمیشه رفیق
بنیان عقل به جایی نمیرسه که شیدا بشه رفیق

...تجربه ی خام
تاج زیر پام
تا جا داره پس
من تاجر خاطره هام
من متهم به چل سالگی ام
چلّم و بگیر

چم شده چل شدم

چلچلچه ها چل ساله نمیشن

یه نمه نمور بوی نم خاک

گریه ی سنتی توی گوشه ی راک

پچ پچ پیچیده تو پیچک ها

خیابون خط خورده تو کوچه ها

چم شده چل شدم

بزن بغل بگیر آدمارو

زیر بگیر عکس ماه رو تو برکه ها

جمع کن تیکههای عشقتو از وسط جسد جاده ها

چم شده چل شدم

کفشای سرخ بچم رو زمین جامونده خودش کجاست

عکس ازدواج من و تو هم لای لاشه ی چمدوناس

من مسؤل رفتن توام و تو مسؤل مرگ موندن من

بی معرفت جا گذاشتی با مرگت منو با زنده موندنم

حقیقت داشت

چهل بار چل شدم

ببخش بیتو بیهوا وارث دردهای مشکل شدم

نقش دوم

مرد مرده

پای من با تو رو زمین بود پریدی زیر پاهام خالی شد قعر

سقوط واژه ی تلخی بود که بعد از تو متعالی شد پر

زندهام؟ خنده وسط داغ

دامن خون چکیده توی باغ

من تو مسیر گیس تو ، ییلاق

نار پوست

سفید و رخشان

رگهای مرصع

کل به کمان تو دل به کمین کلام کتاب

خالی

کافی کام مکرم

کشف کلید معبد پوشالی

نفس سوم

نقش ثلاثی

عتیق

غریق

عجیب

ابلق

چل

بعثت انزال من از گور به گور تا

به شب در چشم تو زلزله پاشید و زمین ترسید

بوسه ی آخر چریک

بغض سیانور

نیش فشنگ

خواب خیابون پرید

شلخ

بی تنهاترین غریق لای امواج نگاه مردم

بی تو حالا حال نفس کشیدن نیست

ملتمس زهر کژدم

Forty / Insane (1)

 

What’s happened to me? I’ve gone insane! (I’ve turned forty!)

I thought my homeland is the whole world and I have no borders on the map
Turning forty is a poetic maturity, as her body would become your homeland!
The pure existential crisis wouldn’t be found in any book my friend
The principle of wisdom won’t reach the point of being lovelorn my friend!

Immature experience...
The crown under my feet
So as far as possible
I’m the tradesman of the memories
I’m accused of being forty
Hold my fortieth-day memorial! (2)
What’s happened to me? I’ve turned forty!

The Swallows don’t reach the age of forty
(It’s) a little dampish, (like) the Petrichor (damp soil scent)

Traditional (music) cry in “Rāk Gusheh” (3)

Whispers weaving throughout the tendrils
The street is crossed out in the alleys
What’s happened to me? I’ve gone crazy!

Pull over, hug the people!
Overrun the moon’s reflection on the lake!
Pick up the pieces of your beloved one from the middle of the road’s corpse!
What’s happened to me? I’ve turned forty!

My child’s red shoes are left on the ground, but where is she herself?

Our wedding’s photo is also somewhere in the luggage’s cadaver
I’m responsible for your leaving and you’re the undertaker of my abidance’s death!

Hey uncaring! By your death you left me alone with my survival...

It was true
I’ve gone mad forty times!
Forgive me! Without you, I suddenly inherited troublesome pains

The second role

The dead man

With you my feet were on the ground, you flew,

then the rug was pulled from under my feet

deep down away...
Downfall was a bitter word,

which became transcendental after you
were gone away...

The skirt, blood is dropped in the garden
I on my way to your hair, summer-quarter

Rosy skinned
White and bright
Inlaid veins patterns
Ululating (4) for (the beauty of) your arched eyebrow
(My) Heart falling into the trap of the Word in the Book
Blank
(I) reveled more than enough!
Discovering the key to the paper temple!
The third ego
The tertiary role

Antique

Drowned

Weird

Piebald

Insane!

My ejaculation’s prophetic mission from grave to grave, so that

at night the quake splattered in your eyes and the earth feared!

The Guerrilla’s last kiss!
A lump in Cyanide’s throat!

The bullet sore
The street got wide awake
Shalakh! (5)
The loneliest loner drowned in the midst of the waves of people’s stare
Now without you, (I’m) not in the mood to breathe...
Begging for scorpion’s venom!

---

1. In spoken Persian the word “Chel” means “insane, mad etc.” as well as the number “forty”.
2. The “Fortieth Day After Death” is a traditional memorial service, family gathering and rituals in

memory of the departed on the fortieth day after their death.

3. There are many short melodic movements in Iranian traditional music called “Gusheh”. “Rāk” is one of them, which also has its own different types. The “Gushes” are classified into twelve “Avāz”, which build up seven main “Dastgāh” or “modes”.

4. To make a long, high cry using tongue to change between two or three notes up and down, often to show high emotions by women especially at a ceremony such as a wedding or funeral.

5. A middle eastern interjection which could have no or any meaning in different situations.

Translation: Nick Rastin

Taoon - 4th Track of Chel Album

Shahin Najafi: Music, Lyrics
Habib Meftah: Percussion, & Flute  
Faarjam: Mixing & Mastering, Bass
Translation: Nick Rastin
Ali Baghban: Cover
Dyaloge Limited

طاعون

طاعون اگه من گشنم

اون نون منه که تو یخچال توئه

طاعون اگه فرش زیر پام نیست

تو زدی که قالی زیر پای توئه

اگه من بی هیچ چیزم بی همه چیز

همه چیزم مال توئه

طاعون خاکستر عمر من

از آتیشبازی امثال توئه

عددی نبودیم یه مشت صفر

شیره ی جزر زجر و گرفتی

کم از تو و ماتم از تو اما

غم یه روز من قد یه سال توئه

طاعون

، دستامو ببین

زخم باز و تاول و داغ و چین

اینا خطوط مرگ تو فال توئه

اینا کرم میوه ی کال توئه

طناب تاریخ، حلقه رو حلقم

تناسب تناسل عقیم

شاش خدا از سقف سوراخ

جسدم آماده تو چال توئه

طاعون چند خریدی مارو

که توی بازارت دلال شیم

طاعون چند فروخته شدیم

که چشارو ببندیم و لال شیم

طاعون زدی ریشه رو از ته

تا هم تبار تبر تباه شیم

ما معصوم نبودیم اما قرار هم نبود که تبهکار شیم

خون دزدی تو رگ...زدم

نفس مزدوری مث سگ

گاز گرفتی مارو تا هار شیم

طاعون

شبیه خودتیم

رذل

طاعون

نون پدر با آش ناپدری

مادر... عروس غریبه ها

گل تو خاک قرضی

جوونه نزدیم

میوه ندادیم

اینا همه از آفت باغ توئه

اینا رد خون شلاق توئه

طاعون اگه من گشنم

اون نون منه که تو یخچال توئه

طاعون اگه فرش زیر پام نیست

تو زدی که قالی زیر پای توئه

اگه من بی هیچ چیزم بی همه چیز

همه چیزم مال توئه

طاعون خاکستر عمر من

از آتیشبازی امثال توئه

ما مثل تو شدیم

کم گفتیم کم خوندیم اما کم خون ندیدیم

ما سایه هامون و آتیش زدیم و از روشون پریدیم

طاعون

نادر شدی، ما هند گشنه های متوهم سیریم

نازل شدی تا در راه تو بزرگ شیم و بمیریم

برده های ول تو مجازی

بازنده های معصوم بازی

زبونمون و چه خوب بلدی

وقتی زبونمون و از ته زدی

طاعون

محاصره شد قلبمون توی قلعه ی کرمان

تا کور شیم با دست آقا محمد خان

لیاخوف شدی و مغز مجلس و به توپ بستی

پستی طاعون

روس بودی که پای جنگل و شکستی طاعون

رگ امیر تو فین کاشان

آخرین نگاه رضا خان

بریدی

دریدی

دزدیدی

طاعون چند خریدی مارو

که توی بازارت دلال شیم

طاعون چند فروخته شدیم

که چشارو ببندیم و لال شیم

طاعون تیر از تو تیرگی از تو

چیرگی با زور از تو

طاعون مرگ بی صدا از من

خفگیم تو نقطه کور از تو

 

 

The Plague
 

Hey Plague! If I’m hungry,
that’s my bread in your fridge!
Pestilence! If I have no carpet under my feet,

you stole it, that rug is under your feet!
You unscrupulous! If I have nothing,
my everything is yours!
Hey Plague! The ashes of my life
is because of fire-plays by the ones like you!

We were no one, a bunch of Zeros
You extracted the essence, the square root of the agony!

The shortage is from you, the mourning is because of you

But my grief in one day is like yours in a year!
Plague! Pestilence!

Hey Plague! Look at my hands (which have)

open wounds, blisters, scars and palmar creases

These fate lines of death are in your divination!

These are worms of your unripe fruit

The rope of history, (its) noose is around my neck

Castrated kinship relations
God’s urine (dripping) through the ceiling holes

My corpse is prepared in your grave

Hey Plague! How much did you buy us?
So that we become dealers in your market!

Pestilence! For how much were we sold?
So that we shut our eyes and become mute!

Hey Plague! You cut the radicle at the very bottom,
so that we decay as the tribesmen of the axe!
We weren’t innocent but also not supposed to become villain

Stolen blood... I injected into my veins!
(I) panted (with) hireling gasps, like a dog!

You bit us, so that we get rabies

Pestilence!
We’re much like yourself
Scoundrel!
Plague!

Father’s bread with stepfather’s pottage

Mother... strangers’ bride!
(We were planted like) Flowers in borrowed soil

We didn’t sprout
We didn’t bear fruit
This is all because of your garden’s blight!
This is the splattered blood of your whip

Hey Plague! If I’m hungry,
that’s my bread in your fridge
Pestilence! If I have no carpet under my feet,

you stole it, that rug is under your feet!
You unscrupulous! If I’m without anything,

my everything is yours!

Hey Plague! The ashes of my life
is because of fire-plays by the ones like you!

We became like you
We told barely, we read hardly, but we didn’t see blood scarcely!

We burned our shadows and jumped over their flames (1)

Pestilence!

You became “Nader”, we’re the India of starving ones deluded to be satiated! (2)

You descended (upon us), so that we grow up and die in your favor

The slaves lollygagging in cyberspace

The innocent losers of the game
You speak our language very well,
as you cut out our tongues at the root!

Plague!

Our hearts were encircled in “Kerman” Castle, (3)
so that we become blind by “Agha Mohammad Khan”! (3b)
You became Liakhov (4) and cannonaded the Parliament’s brain

You’re despicable, Pestilence!
You’re contemptible!

You were (like) Russians who chopped the legs of “Jangal”, Plague! (5)

“Amir” ’s vein in “Fin” of “Kashan” (6)
last gaze of “Reza Khan” (7)

You chopped

You ripped

You stole

Hey Pestilence! How much did you buy us?

So that we become dealers in your market!

Plague! For how much were we sold?
So that we shut our eyes and become mute!

Hey Pestilence! The bullet comes from you, the darkness and the forcible dominance are (made) by you!

Plague! The silent death is mine! My suffocation in the dead spot is because of you!

---

1. Referring to “Chaharshanbe Suri” (Festive Wednesday), the Iranian festival celebrated on the eve of the last Wednesday before Nowruz (the Iranian New Year on twenty first of March) during which people make bonfires and jump over the flames as a purification ritual, asking for the strength of the fire.

2. Refers to the invasion of India in 1738 by “Nader Shah Afshar” (King of Iran from 1736 to 1747). During this invasion hundreds of thousands of Indians were killed in battlefields and died also due to starvation.

3. Refers to the capture of Kerman (city in the southeast of Iran) by “Agha Mohammad Khan Qajar” (the King of Iran from 1789 to 1797). During this siege many of the male inhabitants of Kerman were killed or blinded by Agha Mohammad Khan’s order and a pile of 20,000 detached eyeballs poured in front of him as a sign of revenge and victory.

4. Colonel “Vladimir Platonovitch Liakhov” (1869 – 1919) was the Russian commander of the Persian Cossack Brigade during the rule of “Mohammad Ali Shah Qajar” (King of Iran from 1907 to 1909). After shelling the Majlis (Parliament) of Iran and execution of several constitutionalist leaders on June 23, 1908, he was appointed by the King as the military governor of Tehran (capital city of Iran).

5. Referring to the “Jangal (jungle) movement” launched in “Gilan” forests (northern Iran) in 1915 by the constitutional revolutionist “Mirza Kuchak Khan Jangali” (1880 - 1921). This movement demanded an end to central government corruption and also fought against foreign invaders, especially Russia. Due to military and political acts of Britain and Russia, the movement were defeated by “Reza Khan” (the leader of government forces and the future King of Iran – See No. 7).

6. Referring to the “Fin” Garden and its famous Bath located in the city of “Kashan” (central Iran). In this bath “Amir Kabir” (reformist Chancellor of Iran from 1848 to 1851) was murdered by cutting his veins due to order of “Naser al-Din Shah Qajar” (King of Iran from 1848 to 1896).

 

7. “Reza Shah Pahlavi”, known as “Reza Khan” (1878 – 1944), was the King of Iran from 15 December 1925 until he was forced to abdicate by the Anglo-Soviet invasion of Iran on 16 September 1941. There are photos of him gazing haggard-faced and looking ill, before he dies in exile.

Translation: Nick Rastin

 

 

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