28 July 2008

Later On

My death will come someday to me
One day in spring, bright and lovely
One winter day, dusty, distant
One empty autumn day, devoid of joy.

My death will come someday to me
One bittersweet day, like all my days
One hollow day like the one past
Shadow of today or of tomorrow.

My eyes tune to half dark hallways
My cheeks resemble cold, pale marble
Suddenly sleep creeps over me
I become empty of all painful cries.

Slowly my hands slide o’er my notes
Delivered from poetry’s spell,
I recall that once in my hands
I held the flaming blood of poetry.

The earth invites me into its arms,
Folks gather to entomb me there
Perhaps at midnight my lovers
Place above me wreaths of many roses.

Forough Farrokhzad 1935-1967


Sean Jeating said...

Ah, Jams. The peace of the night.

Frank Partisan said...

That was incredible, with the picture being an added touch.

jmb said...

How prophetic, since she was so young and her death was accidental.

jams o donnell said...

Thanks all Im glad you found this interesting

Dragonstar said...

Beautiful, and so touching.

jams o donnell said...

It is Dragonstar. I'll be posting more of her work from time to time

Claude said...

Thank you, Jams. She truly held "the faming blood of poetry."

Claude said...

It was flaming of course.

jams o donnell said...

She certainly did!