The Story of our Ceaseless Meander

I was not born into this world just today.
I have borne the burden of all times, all the way.
My most recent memories belong to the ancient ages:
the endless story of massacres, of carnages.

Remember
Remember
our only gain out of the murder:
The stale pieces of bread, with no roses,
to weather away on our cursed tablecloths.

Remember
Remember
how beguiled me the neighbor:
With my own callous hands,
I untied for them all the bands.
I opened to them our termite-ridden gate,
so that they could line us up to decapitate.

I prayed to their God and I was slain.
I was not welcomed in the holy reign
I prayed to their God and I was slain,
accused of taking the name of the Lord in vain.

They ordered me and my brother
to slaughter one-another,
as the the best path to prove an honor,
as the best way to warrant a bliss,
as the best route to rest in peace...

Remember
Remember
our only gain out of the murder:
The torn apart pieces of rag,
to cover up our groins and piously brag.

Oh my brother … Oh my brother…
Your sanguineness tempted the Westerner,
they came to behead both you and me.
My foolishness tempted the Easterner,
they came to behead you, me, and the rest of our family.
They subdued us, beside all our rants and all our raves.
They turned us into slaves.
They buried our beloved ones alive into the graves.
With our corpses, they built a cemetery so vast,
that the lachrymose mournings of the survivors forever last.

Remember
Remember
our ceaseless meander,
from one estrangement to another…
The pointless chase of a creed,
remained as our only deed.

Our history is the endless story of restlessness,
faithlessness,
homelessness.

Noway…Noway
I was not born into this world just today.

August 5th, 2011,
last day of New York

* This is my translation of this poem from Shamlou. I took the liberty of substituting his specific allusions to Iranian history with more universal ones. See here for a more literal English translation