Majid Naficy: Two Neighbors
The scent of chicken tahchin
Is wafting up to me
Through the window
And I know soon
She will knock at my door…
Majid Naficy: A Witness for Ezzat
I want to know what happened
On January 7, 1982
Half past one in the afternoon
In Evin Prison
Majid Naficy: Stroke
It was last week
Tuesday morning at seven
When in the shower
Your right arm became numb
Majid Naficy: On the Booksellers’ Street of Baghdad
I saw Mutanabbi returning from Persia.
He had heard the sound of Tigris, by the Kor River
Calling him back to Baghdad.
Majid Naficy: The Family Koran
There, in the tradition of the Old Testament,
He stoned the unruly women
And hanged the disillusioned youth
In the market place.
Majid Naficy: The Cypress of Abarkuh
Once with my father
I sat in its shade.
We were coming from Isfahan
And wanted to go to Ferdows
From the desert.
Majid Naficy: Kabul
But larks have not forgotten to fly
And grass still sprouts from the earth of Kabul
And rivers are replenished by the snows of Pamirs
And the groves of Samangan are filled with sounds of birds.
Majid Naficy: A Little Girl’s Rebellion
At seven o’clock in the morning
As I pass by a green house
An automatic sprinkler
Suddenly goes off
And wets me head to toe.
Majid Naficy: Khomeini’s Visit
My father never told us
That Khomeini had visited him
For medical treatment many years ago
Majid Naficy: The Engraver
You put on your eyeglasses
And read me your daughter’s will
Word by word.
Majid Naficy: Little Armenia
The city remained apart from you
Lying beyond Zaiandeh River.
Only poets of midnight
Knocked at the door of your taverns…
Majid Naficy: Billie Holiday
I walk gently on the skin of the sea.
A wandering wind wraps around our bodies
And an albatross opens its wings on our shoulders.
Majid Naficy: Seven Poems During Trump
You are that apple worm which overnight
Grew into a bloodthirsty dragon
Like Haftvad’s worm in the “Ardashir Chronicles”.
Majid Naficy: Seven Sacred Songs
There is a footstep
And the light of a lantern.
I hide myself beneath an old blanket
And become filled with the aroma of wheat.
Vox Populi 