by Suhrab Sirat, translated by Annie Lane
My soul, my sight, my shadow, my night, my every dream – all are bloodied.
I kissed my reflection, the mirror split –
My lips are wounded.
A venomous year, an autumn year.
Each constellation ploughs into the next and
My Scorpio is wounded.
The bull’s horns shake and pierce this trembling Earth,
This heart – my heart – my heart –
My stubborn heart is wounded.
I have no country, no space for a grave,
No sky, no time,
My star is wounded.
Shaky first lines fade out
Page by flickering page, it is dust and blood.
My school is wounded.
Choking in crowds of sleeping consciences,
Logic bleeds out, passion is dead,
My soul is wounded.
From beginning to end, all I own is bleeding.
My name/my words/my memories/my religion/I am wounded/I am wounded