کابل   Kabul

کابل  

برای کابل
اگر دلم می تپد
برای دامن بالاحصار است
که مرده هایم را
در آغوش می کشد
هر چند، هیچ گاه
هیچ یک از آن دل های نامراد
برای من نتپیده است 
 
برای کابل
اگر دلم می سوزد
برای "ویش خدا"گفتن لیلا است
که دل مادر کلان را
کلچه کلچه داغ می زد 
 
برای راه کشیدن چشم های گلنار است
که از پگاه تا بیگاه
 از بهار تا تیر ماه
آنقدر بر راه ماندند
تا همه ی جاده ها پوسیدند
و  بیراهه هایش 
ناگهان
در خواب های نورس من
پوست انداختند 
 
برای کابل
اگر دلم می لرزد
برای نیمروز های کند پای تابستان است
که هنوز خانه ی  پدری را
به سنگینی خواب نیم چاشتی اش
بر صندوق سینه ام بار می کند 
 
برای فرشته ی بازیگوش شانه ی راست
که هی یادش  می رود
گلوله های غیبی را بتاراند 
 
برای گم شدن صدای
سبزی فروش دوره گرد
در خواب های پریشان همسایه هاست
که دلم می لرزد
 

Kabul

If my heart beats
for Kabul,
it's for the slopes of Bala Hissar,
holding my dead
in its foothills.
 
Though not one, not one
of those wretched hearts
ever beat for me.
 
If my heart grieves
for Kabul,
it's for Leyla's sighs of
‘Oh, dear God!'
and my grandmother's heart
set pounding.
 
It's for Golnar's eyes
scanning the paths
from dawn to dusk, spring to autumn,
staring so long
that all the roads fall apart
and in my teenage nightmares
side roads
suddenly shed their skins.
 
If my heart trembles
for Kabul,
it's for the slow step of summer noons,
siestas in my father's house which,
heavy with mid-day sleep,
still weighs on my ribs.
 
For the playful Angel of the Right Shoulder
who keeps forgetting
to ward away stray bullets.
 
It's for the hawker's cry
of the vegetable seller doing his rounds,
lost in my neighbours' troubled dreams,
that my heart's trembling.
 

Kabul

If my heart beats
for Kabul
it's for the foot of Bala Hessar
which holds my dead
in its embrace.
 
Even though not one
of those unfulfilled/disappointed hearts has ever
beaten for me.
 
If my heart weeps
for Kabul
it's for Leyla sighing "Oh dear God"
which always
broke Grandmother's heart.
 
It's for Golnar's eyes scanning the road
from dawn to dusk
from spring to autumn
they stayed on the road so long
that all the roads disintegrated
and the byways
suddenly
shed their skin
into my adolescent nightmares.
 
If my heart trembles
for Kabul
it's for the slowfooted middays of summer
which still make my father's house [family home],
with the heaviness of its mid-afternoon sleep [naps?],
weigh down on my ribcage.
 
For the playful Angel of the Right Shoulder
which keeps forgetting
to drive away the stray bullets.
 
It's for the voice
of the wandering vegetable seller
getting lost in the neighbours' agitated dreams
that my heart trembles.
 

Bala Hissar: an ancient citadel in Kabul with a cemetery outside its walls.

Angel of the Right Shoulder: a reference to one of the angels, the Keraman Katebin, who are believed by Muslims to sit on the shoulders of all believers, recording their good and evil deeds. The angel on the right shoulder is also believed to protect one from harm.

Original Poem by

Shakila Azizzada

Translated by

Zuzanna Olszewska with Mimi Khalvati Language

Dari

Country

Afghanistan