Original by Shams Langeroodi, translation by Masoud Razfar
My empty bosom smells like you,
You! The reality of my imaginary love.
After you, I have no news of myself,
Tell me how I am, what’s become of me these days?
I was once your certainty, but it’s now gone,
Today I’m a probable catastrophe.
My poem was your rainy blossom,
Now I’m only news of a draught.
For the sake of bread we broke, salt we shared;
You take the bread as your ways long, your patience short.
Leave me the salt, I want this wound forever fresh.
Masoud Razfar, 37, grew up in Iran and now resides in Bangkok since January 2016. He has a BA in English Translation and MA in Linguistics. He is a translator for refugees and an English teacher.