We were so transformed that she wept for us,
our forest dwelling scarlet-buttocked ancestor.
Horns and tails were bestowed upon us
so that no other beast could take our place.
To our amazement we could now flaunt
four black hooves at the end of our limbs.
To the meadows we were driven
with prods, ropes and calls for beasts.
To the meadows we were driven
prodded and roped like beasts.
Our passionate grazing allowed no “whys?”
Our swamp-like eyes accepted no other reflection
but green grass.
To scream, you need a human voice box,
how can our prayers now be distinguished
from our curses?
They did to us what’s done to all beasts of the field:
we were branded—where, I am too ashamed to tell.
Now we grow old, male and female, with milk and plow,
till the butcher decides which knife we deserve best.
Simin Behbahani’s English Translations from the book entitled A Cup of Sin Courtesy of Syracuse University Press
