Poems have blossomed
In May
I became the translator of the wind smile
Friend of the calm waves of the sea…
Hamid Nazarkhah Alisaraei, an eminent poet and writer from Iran, shares his poetry
Hamid Nazarkhah Alisaraei (Adonis Dodestani), poet, writer, storyteller, journalist, popular culture researcher, was born in 1978 in Kuchesfahan city. After obtaining a diploma in the field of cultural affairs management, he succeeded in obtaining a bachelor’s degree. Nazarkhah is currently studying for a master’s degree in Iranology with a specialization in people’s culture, customs and cultural heritage as a student at Gilan University. He was a member of the founding committee and responsible for Kochesfahan poetry and literature association from 2002 to 2007. He is also the founder and head of the “Kochesfahan” group from 2011 to the present day. Nazarkhah started his press activity since 2005 with local newspapers in northern Iran, Gilan. During his student days, he printed and published the magazine “Bloom” in both Gilaki and Persian languages. He is now the head of Gil Kochesfahan Institute of Culture. He published his first poetry book in 2018 in Gilaki language with Persian translation under the title “Wind Lullaby.” In 2021, Nazarkhah was the organizer and secretary of the first edition of the National Short Story Festival (Alisaraei Award) in both free and special sections with the topic of Coronavirus (Covid 2019). He is the winner of the “Lucius Aeneus Seneca” international contemporary literature prize from the Academy of Philosophical Arts and Sciences in Italy in 2023. He received the national award and certificate of honor from the “Tokyo Mengua Literary Ceremony” from the “Chinese Literature Magazine” in 2023. He received the diploma of honor and gold medal of Sultan Babyars in the international literary competition “Literary Asia 2023” in Kazakhstan by Bakhit Rostamov, the head of the second international competition of Literary Asia Kazakhstan. His poems and writings are published in print and electronic publications in Iran and other countries in Gilaki, Persian, Albanian, Chinese, Korean, Italian, Spanish, Russian, Serbian, Arabic, Bengali, Armenian, Bosnian and English languages.
1
Fishes
Fantastic autumn nights
Under the electvic posts of the city
In the thick fog of the evening
Celebrate.
Street pavements
They breathe the footsteps of passers-by
The longest night of the year
With red seeds of words
They decorate
But I share the my dream of watermelon dream among the poor people
To have a happy Yalda.
***
2
The clouds, like mares sneeze autumnal
Among the lightning…
Sometimes they come to my dreams
They interpret my white dream as black.
Sometimes they leave me among the red cawing of bearded crows
For that they will blaze everyone
To make me look sinister
Sometimes they wear devotee clothes
And they march on the floor of sky
To don’t leave nothing of me.
To paint the smile of winter in the absurd fantasy of autumn in their own name.
***
3
I have decorated the poem with colored lamps
To match the color of your eyes
I have pinned all the stanzas
So that I never miss you.
The pavements of the city became the color of your steps
When archaeologists discovered your Tora’s shoelaces in a sewer pipe
*
When my name was hanged from the highest clock tower in the city
I was thinking about your dreams.
*
The Life was a beautiful dream
Before I say hello to the world
He hugged my father.
***
4
Sometimes I live in Beirut
Sometimes beside your imagination…
Sometimes my poetry smells like gunpowder
Sometimes the taste of your kisses…
I think we are a thousand years apart
When in the middle of my poem
I comb your hair
Sometimes I make your laugh the color of wild raspberry
I fill my mouth with silver dew
With the accent of the sun
Sometimes I sigh for thousands of hidden sorrows
This is my greatest sorrow
My love!
***
5
I am the scarecrow of the farm!
I know there is nothing I can do.
I know that the crows
These ominous crows
Under the dim light of fireflies
With a wild onslaught
What they will do with the farm?
I know they will leave me nothing.
I know that tomorrow
During rooster crowing
The Farmer
He puts the rope around my neck.
And he will ignite a fire in among field
And shouts loudly and laudably
He shouts and say
This is my motto.
***
6
Home country
It is white paper
In which words are free
And they hug each other.
Home country
It is somewhere near sunset
That the canaries are free to sing for the passersby in love
And the fishes are free to dance in front of the customer.
Home country
I am
Away from the hustle and bustle of the world
I write love poems
***
7
No nights understand my pain
Nine, days understand my restlessness…
The red color of children’s cheeks
People said: It is the fault of winter!
I asked the wind passing by the schools:
Why every night do children
Dream of rainbows?!
Why have the moan of the streets
Become earrings
To the ears of my mother?!
When children
Close their eyes
To their dreams…
Rain of black stones
Collapse
From the corner of my mother’s eyes.
***
8
The clouds of the mare are drawing an autumnal sheehy
Among the lightning…
Sometimes they come to my dreams
They interpret my white dream as black.
Sometimes they leave me among the crows with beards
And they tell everyone that I am a bad person.
Sometimes they wear death clothes
And in the sky on the clouds they are marching
To leave nothing of me.
And paint the smile of winter in their own name in the absurd fantasy of autumn.
***
9
Ah, you beautiful gypsy woman!
I decorated my poem with colored lights
To be the color of your eyes
I have attached all the lines of my poetry to my chest
To remember you in my heart forever
Ah, you beautiful gypsy woman!
When you shouted my name from the highest clock tower in the city
I was thinking about your dreams
Ah, you beautiful gypsy woman!
I love you like all the words of my poem
And I hold my poem in my arms and kiss her lips.
Ah, you beautiful gypsy woman!
Let the whole world know how much I love you
Sell me some of your laugh and half of your look
And this time I shout from the city clock tower:
This beautiful gypsy woman loves me.
***
10
Poems have blossomed
In May
I became the translator of the wind smile
Friend of the calm waves of the sea…
Friend of the sunshine behind the mountain –
Who still prostrates and does omen.
Poems has not flourished
In May
You wrote
In the story of the wind’s smile
On the pieces of the black cloud
The cherry of words
Have stolen from the lips of the sea’s brides
And the imaginary kisses that tasted like death
You sold it to me secretly
The poems have put shrouded
In May
For May’s bloodlust
This is the beginning of the uprising of poems.
___________
