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In This Blind Alley
They smell your breath
lest you have said: I love you,
They smell your heart:
These are strange times, my dear.
They flog love
at the roadblock.
Let’s hide love in the larder.
In this crooked blind alley, as the chill descends,
they feed fires
with logs of song and poetry.
Hazard not a thought:
These are strange times, my dear.
The man who knocks at your door in the noon of the night
has come to kill the light.
Let’s hide light in the larder.
There, butchers
are posted in passageways
with bloody chopping blocks and cleavers:
These are strange times, my dear.
They chop smiles off lips,
and songs off the mouth:
Let’s hide joy in the larder.
Canaries barbecued
on the flames of lilies and jasmines:
These are strange times, my dear.
Satan, drunk on victory,
squats at the feast of our undoing.
Let’s hide God in the larder.
Ahmad Shamlu
Translated from the Persian by Ahmad Karimi Hakkak