The plump moon lights up my room.

My mind is now a flat graph
no desire no lust no dream

the cold winds from the rumbling sea
make no dent on me
I look at my palms
and see the cracked floor
gnarled roots of mangrove on the wall
blend seamlessly with all I have
like once I had her in this room
love together
taking wingless flight to the moon
but now I more like sitting here
prospecting no words to rhyme
not angered at the blankness
for in this vacuous moonlight
I wait without a hope of gain
without a despair of loss
unconstrained for time
contoured by fireflies
alone
recounting a new beginning
from the end.

What would be the color of my sky ?
I'll tear up the clouds
My small tongue kisses you
The sun is turning
Your white teeth was biting two round points
Your dandelion is growing
The wheat is always menstruated in my poems
And I like to sleep on the back of my red backpack

آسمان من چه رنگ خواهد بود ؟
ابرها را پاره می کنم
زبان کوچک من تو را می بوسد
خورشید می چرخد
دندان های سفیدت
دو نقطه ی گرد را به هم گاز می گرفت
قاصدک تو بلند می شود
گندم ها همیشه در قصه های من پریود اند
و من
دوست دارم
پشت کیف قرمز رنگ مدرسه ام بخوابم

I want a room with a window,
White walls of the sun,
And a floor from the trees,
A hole for the stars to be seen.
I want a curtain across the door
The door far from the window,
A bed inches from the floor
Where I sprawl across
Just next to my bookcase,
A few pillows on the ground,
A soft rug below.
And the sun will burn through every morning
But only to burn the night cold,
And when it rains
It patters my home
And I see it roll from
The first drop of birth
To its journey of tiny rivers across.
And when I have much to think
And none to speak to,
I will watch the moon dance
With the clouds of disguise,
And I will watch and watch
Until sleep lulls me by.
I can picture it all so well,
So vivid, so detailed,
Almost feeling the heat of the sun,
Hear the sound of the rain,
The memories of the stars,
But here I am,
Sitting and sitting
Knowing what I want
But having no clue
How to get it, to get there.
I wanna make a home
A place of my own,
But here I am
And I can't go.

Rows of trees burst out,
Symphonies of violet.
High notes of fragrance.