I want to say: about the day I was chopped and my hands could not longer touch my body or even cover my eyes when they showed spite.
My pieces with all the pain in their veins became the food for passing trees that were tired and no birds had ever hugged them.
My pieces were happy, their voices didn’t deafen the forest, they became food for trees that were forgotten in the cold season.
I grew in those trees, I touched them and sprouted on their branches.
My hands were green branches that were hugging the birds, and my fingers were a safe nest that never disturbed their sleep.
Days, months, years passed…
The trees to whom my pieces brought life to their souls, they got so big that I got lost in them several times a day.
I had to go, I wanted to fly.
One morning that I will never forget
I woke up with the sound of crying and screaming.
It was the first time that I had heard such a bitter sound and I was scared,
I thought it was going to happen again.
I thought I would be torn to pieces again.
But the sound was the sound of a tree that was crying, she schrunk in herself from pain and it disturbed my soul too.
She was mourning !!
Mourning the bird that died on her branch before she could see her chickens for the last time and put food in their mouths.
I could not stand the sound of the tree crying, it reminded me of the day I was torn to pieces.
I wiped her tears, I kissed his eyes, and I said to her, do not be upset.
A bird whose her heart has been stolen like you did
and who loves you so much,
who nests on your branch and entrusts her chickens to you,
will never die.
It was time to leave there, I kissed the forehead of the tree and called out to all my pieces.
I had to go on another trip, and say good morning to the life in the body of the bird.
door Saye Sohrabi
vertaald door NKdeE Vertaaldienst
opgenomen in WEEKBLADEN #58 - gift
vertaling: که بغض vertaald door NKdeE Vertaaldienst
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