Six people die in the Mediterranean Sea every day is a poem that portrays the painful incidents of deaths of refugees and migrants attempting to reach Europe via the Mediterranean Sea.
[author title=”Nazanin Rahimi” image=”https://sindhcourier.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/09/Nazanin-Rahimi-Iran-Poet-Sindh-Courier.jpeg”]Nazanin Rahimi, born on June 29, 1972, has Master’s degree in Clinical Psychology from Payam-e-Nour University, Tehran and Bachelor of Art in Drama from Azad Islamic University, Tehran branch. She is a freelance writer and poet and author of poetry collection books including ‘Surviving the black city by a little girl like you’; ‘Black eye Little shout’; ‘It is like the wind has gone’; ‘The growth of Sha’mdani underneath my window’; ‘Calm down, darling!’; ‘I feel like happiness’; ‘We are contemporary with the river’ and ‘I have taken sheltered in a suitcase’. She has also authored over 30 articles on different topics including psychoanalytic literary criticism, poetry and fine art. Nazanin is art-therapy & theatre-therapy instructor. [/author]
Six people die in the Mediterranean Sea every day
Six people die in the Mediterranean Sea every day,
In the same azure blues,
Which you used to put in my hair
And it became a butterfly with azure blue wings
I am sitting beside the window
What should I do with these lots of butterflies?
That became wingless in the middle of my east!
Six people die in the Mediterranean Sea every day,
In the same white waves
Which your hands
White pigeons
Sitting on any wave
Codling me
Now the pigeons coo on the roof of my house
What should I do with these lots of birds?
Unfeather in my pillow
Six people die in the Mediterranean Sea every day,
Remember it was not a salvage ship
It was a tanker, huge
And oil
Is a sword in the soil of this middle of the east!
Six people die in Mediterranean Sea every day,
What should I do?
With these lots of refugees drowned inside me
At the time of death
The news pushes the sword
Everyday
At 5p.m.
(Translated by Sojoodi)
Suitcase
I have taken shelter in a suitcase
This train that you’re supposed to catch Passes exactly through the suitcase And makes my calendar into two halves
The train that speeds up
Colorful invasion of the leaves
One by one
The trees that say good-bye to you
The drops escaping from the train window
The pictures drawn
Drawn
Drawn
And the closed umbrellas in the station, waiting
As if my closed fist
Your closed heart
In which season, do you think, the passenger of this calendar will come back that your suitcase is still left on the top of my closet!
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