Nobody cares for flowers.

Photo by Resim & Fotoğraf.

Nobody cares for flowers.
Nobody cares for birds.

Nobody wants to believe that Little Garden is dying,
Nobody wants to believe that Little Garden’s heart- is swollen in this parching heat.
Nobody wants to know that Little Garden's mind- is slowly losing its green past.
And it seems that Little Garden's sense is lost- in a remote isle,
perishing fast, in the isolating scent of the air.

Our courtyard is feeling lonely.
Our courtyard is yawning- in the hope of a raining cloud.
And young, tiny leaves- are collapsing from the heights of trees.

And from the pastel windows of the cage,
song of the birds suddenly breaks- into the attacks of coughing.
Our courtyard is feeling lonely.

**&**

My sister was friend with flowers and birds.
When my mother was mad, wanted to scold her,
she was hiding behind the green mass of the trees.
She loved to play with wounded, unwell birds.

My sister is living in uptown now.
Now she has a sham house.
Now she has a synthetic rose.
Now she has an artificial plant.
She stays with her fake husband.
They listen to synthesized music.
And they will make lots of natural kids.

My sister comes to visit,
She doesn’t like dusts of Little Garden,
She always brings perfumed, hydrating creams.

**&**

Our courtyard is feeling lonely.
Our courtyard is feeling lonely.
The whole day, it sounds like razing and hammering:
Our neighbors are implanting mines in their field,
Our neighbors are mounting a safety cover for their pool,
Our neighbors’ basement looks like a secret arsenal base.
Our neighbor’s children are fighting with noisy guns and bombs.
Our courtyard is feeling scared.

**&**

And I am scared of this Heartless Time,
I am scared of all those Wasted Hands,
I am scared of all these Stranger Heads,
I am so lonely, like a nerd in Math Class.

I think we have to bring Little Garden to the clinic.
I think, I think, I think…

And Little Garden’s heart is swollen in this parching heat.
And Little Garden’s mind is slowly losing its green past.

Forough Farrokhzad (Selected from I feel Little Garden’s pain 1967)
(Trans.: MD, June 2006, Montreal)
.