Sunday, May 9, 2010


NOSRATOLAH MASOUDIنصرت اله مسعودی 
فصل فصل عاشقی نبود
اما جنون ِمن
زنجیری ِ زنی شد
که هیچ شباهتی به لیلی نداشت!

مخاطب ِخاص دارد این این شعر
دریایی است وُ چهره ساییده به حربر ِموج
ساحل نشین است وُ از قدیم ِشن می آید
شاعر است وُ کدام نسیمی ست
که دلش را
با موج ِ واژه هایش نخوانده باشد.
حواستان جمع!
این شعر مخاطب ِخاص دارد
و این خاصیت عشق هایی ست
که ناگفته، در سینه گم می شوند.

نصرت الله مسعودی

1 / آبان / 92

نه طبابت باز نشستگی دارد
و نه قلبی که بی تردید نمی زند.
گوشی ات به کار ِمن نمی آید،
سرت را روی سینه ام بگذار!

for Mohamad Mokhtari
Beside this sea without a kind moon
And the waves passing tiptoe
As the fish wishes
How infinity could have been
With the hospitality of these wall flower
If I have not read in evening newspaper
They have vanished you
For three days.
And your wife
Who knows
All the streets recognizing you
Only fears for abundance of knife and rope
That are staining
The skin
These days.
And the heart
Satisfied with a rose
Is thrown simply in the mud
Beside this sea with a kind moon.
The legend of this mullclad wave
And the lantern of a star
In hands,could pull
A thousand vagrant fairies
Toward this silver shore.
It would be possible
To draw the curve of a skirt
On damp rock
For spectators of tomorrow
Who is running fever
By the flames of dance
And burns silently
For laying head on the groins of memory
In the feast of sand and moonshine
Besides these shells
Who don't listen tonight
Except for song of poplar and tone of wall flower.
This rock
Was worth hearing
If I knew tomorrow
Eyes in eyes with your image
I hung up the heart
And blue ribbon
In corner of that frame
And to the end of autumn
Under the wind of crows
I did not regret for a bunch of skin
No,not anymore
This sea
And that lantern of a lost house
Behind tears
Who goes after
Cemetery of cut tresses
At night.
No,not anymore
This mull of wave
Has escaped the grave
Who wants
To wrap a cable around himself
Who wants blood
To flower in the corner of sky has risen on the rope of gallows.
Ah!Ah the news again
Smells like camphor
The smells of damp wells without pigeons
And songless
And I have to line up,
With respect to friends
Who vanished one after the other,
Your tresses
To the poem of tomorrow I don't know.


See More:
Farsi:Sep 2009
English:May 2010

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