درمان

دلم می‌خواهد
منتظرت باشم
بی قراری کنم
آهنگی به یادت گوش بدهم...
ترانه یی بنویسم
به باران، به باغ، به آفتاب، به بهار
پیوندت بزنم تا سبز شوی
و گل بیاوری
دلم می‌خواهد
شکست را دوباره تجربه کنم
و با شانه‌های لرزان عاشقانه بگریم
بعد ...
روزها، ماه ها شاید هم سال ها
غرق شوم در حسرت باشکوه یک عشق آسمانی
عشقی که آمدن دارد
رفتن نه...
دلم می‌خواهد
دفتر خاطرات مان را بازکنم
و هیجان گمشده‌ یی را شلاق بزنم
که مثل اسب مرده یی
افتاده وسط راه

دلم می خواهد اما...
عشق،
زخم سرطانی نیست
پوست بالا می‌آورد
و درمان می‌شود

irrelevance

There is no relevance to lust
Love ought to begin from the lips
From kisses, bites-n-nibbles and burning lips
Impatient kisses, that do not inquire
Nor await any response
From the thirst of glances
Stemming from their waists
And a series of targets
Aiming at each-other within their clinging bodies

Love ought to begin from hands
Hands, aware of intertwining
And twisting - impatiently - with and by arms
And bodies able to get naked before each-other
- with no embarrassment, no courtesy -
Mutually shivering in the thrill of 103 degrees

Love is nude, eternal nude
As a newborn
Surfacing from the snug womb
And continuously crying
The same as a sin, like a scandal
The same as a woman – who has let her hair down- stepping into the bath

Trembling breasts and hanging hands by her sides
As a man sprawled out on bed after making love with his sweetheart

Love is not the man peeping through the key-hole
And waiting outside
For you to get dressed

Nor is it a woman offering cold coffee
And talking about the weather

Zinat Noor