Sharya Abra
b. 1985


I am cowering
in an clock that does not let go of the evening
The cage is tight
No foetus can form in this narrow waist
Every door I knock at
There again a policeman arrives
without a sneeze
Squeezing me with words
Breaking a twig
With nowhere to graft it to
Except on a branch that turned to letters of I love you

Where does it come from
This water
this question that grows
takes root
And without a father
gives the answer
A son

How can I get up with a clock
That is in a coma
And dive into the dusk

Like a dog
I’m short legged
The cats are watching
And silence
That carries the alphabet of suicide
Doesn’t break out of me
Until lips forsake “I love you”
And the foetus is detached
Under each poultice
Point per point of my body
A policeman is on his beat

Translation by Abol Froushan

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