پدر و پسر – شعری از مجید نفیسی

For Azad on the Anniversary of His Birth

 

Father and Son

by

Majid Naficy

 

You took me by surprise, Azad!

Unintentionally conceived

Prematurely born

You put your tiny body

In the cradle of my bosom:

“Now, I am the son and you are the father.

How long do you want to remain

The rebellious child of this house?”

I bent over the illegible letters of your body.

With wet hair and sticky skin

You resembled a little fish

Coming from a far away ocean

To drag this tired old whale

Into fearful whirlpools.

I wanted to cut your umbilical cord

But the scissors did not penetrate the flesh.

You cried out behind closed eyes:

“Dad, I am here.

Don’t you feel my sticky skin

On your fingertips?”

The nurse said: “Enough Daddy!

It has only a symbolic meaning.”

Esmat smiled under a yellow light

And looked at the strange riddle

She had put in front of me:

Am I now closer to death

Or further from it?

At home, I set aside my philosophical riddle.

The aroma of your body

Is my single favorite answer.

Your beautiful eyes talk to me

And your black bangs

Shine like a badge of courage.

Your smile is not fake

And tears simply signal your pain.

Your yawning is the portion

That your sleep steals from wakefulness.

With your refreshing burps

I open a window to the fresh air of early morning

And with your pleasant farts

I roll over the cool summer afternoons.

Oh, you bad gases, go out!

Let my child be calm.

“Lullaby, lullaby, my almond blossom!

Close your eyes, sleep calmly.

“Lullaby, lullaby, may you be my rose!

May you always be my companion!

“Lullaby, lullaby, my fig blossom!

Mama has heavy shackles on her feet

Her eyes are sleepy

But her heart is wakeful.”

When I called Iran

My mother said: “Finally

You became a father.”

But when I heard my father’s voice

Tears did not let me talk.

Father! What is this burden that from your shoulders

You put on my tired back?

I was a rebel for thirty six years

And now I should play the role of an executioner

Saying: This is good, that is bad

This is right, that is wrong

This is God, that is evil

This is order, that is chaos.

Ah, Azad, dear!

Do you want to change me

Into a mullah and jailor

Reveal my hand

And say the game is over?

No! I will come with you

And will search with your eyes

So that I can find “buts”

In all “musts” of the world.

I will barricade with you

Behind a pile of empty bottles of milk

Dirty diapers and bibs

And every-hour-tightening clothes

And will announce:

Many fathers remain with their sons

Many fathers rebel against their sons!

I, too, should explore

This world anew

Clean its dust

Cleanse its dirt

And wash myself in its fountainhead.

You should not think of a father

And I will not think of a son.

My friend!

Our hearts are enough.

Now it is your milk time.

I open the refrigerator

Take a bottle of milk

Put it in warm water

Hang a white bib

Around your neck

And let the drops of fresh milk

Drip over your squeezed gums.

My Azad! My buddy!

My darling! My little one!

Let life and death

Smile through our lips.

 

May 1988