Majid Naficy: A Song for Peace
Let me compose a song for peace
Beyond your phony epics.
Majid Naficy: Ah, Los Angeles
I am at peace with you.
Waiting without fear
I lean back against the bus post.
And I become lost
In the sounds of your midnight.
Majid Naficy: Seven Poems During Trump
I read in Egyptian papyruses
That Truth and Falsehood were brothers.
One day Truth borrowed Falsehood’s dagger
But lost it by misfortune.
Majid Naficy: Stomach Ulcer
The night that Father packed his suitcase
To travel to America
I ran to the alley shops
And bought a package of barberry candies
Majid Naficy: Ezzat’s Last Will & A Memory of Ezzat
I want only to say that life’s beauties are never forgettable.
Majid Naficy: Escape to Lesbos
In Ma’arra, the poet Abul ‘Ala
Was called a death-worthy infidel
And a thousand years after his death
His statue was beheaded.
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: 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.
Kaveh Bassiri: Afterword
In the Quran, God taught Adam the names of all things. Even the angels didn’t know the names. Do we carry the weight of these words with us? Do they hold us responsible?
Majid Naficy: Khomeini’s Visit
My father never told us
That Khomeini had visited him
For medical treatment many years ago
Kaveh Bassiri: Writing Persian
During the hostage crisis, when I was Albanian,
my history teacher conceded, “You’ve to be born into English
to be its rightful citizen.” I wanted to be an American poet,
but was a Persian settler.
