Should the flames of rage rise any higher in this land,
I see your name rotting on your gravestone.
I see your blabbering intransigence and barbed tongue
becoming objects of derision.
I see a around your neck
A chord tightening of your own lies.
Your head is filled with pride
your faith has grown blind,
a fallen elephant is unlikely
To raise again.
Get off your high horse,
stop throwing to the wind
The riches of my land.
I see the grim rising cloud
groveling at the feet of the sewer.
Enough with this tumult, uproar,
Enough with this bloodshed.
Enough with making God’s creatures
mourn with tears.
I will not curse you
since my enemy’s pains
give me no pleasure.
Should you wish to have me stoned
or to burn me,
in your hand no match will light,
no stone will harm me.
Simin Behbahani’s English Translations from the book entitled A Cup of Sin Courtesy of Syracuse University Press
