The songs will disappear one by one

Alireza Behnam, born in 1973 in Tehran, is one of the most influential young poets in Iran right now. Since 1991, he has published four collections of poems and translated a number of books into Persian. Here, he writes a poem about the street as a open scene. 

June 10 2013 Text: Alireza Behnam

The story in three continuous modes
from the twist of your hair to halved curves
city completes under your eyes

There is no way

The ants gleam with a dirty speed, numbers pass
the ugly and tall tower is delayed down there
and your hair above your eyes is still a continuous curve

We are announced in three continuous modes

This is the story

A banned singer sings a rebellious row of tumultuous rhymes of geographical determinism
white Mercedes vomits shapeless and raged eyes in the corner of square with a thick green which rounds it over and over and our feet get stuck, stuck to the feet of eyes owners

This is the story

The row of words suddenly disappears before the glass pyramid of your hair, forbidden
continuous curves forbidden from whiteness of paper
before the pyramid
here is still a beautiful city
and repetitive waters have not moved

This is the story

The songs, one or two, disappear and so the newspapers from the newsstands, clothes, shoes
everyday dreams from computers
behind a closed shutter, there is a bust in national veil
national showcase with white mushroom advertisement and inalienable rights

And standing under a cloud which has no rain
the story in three continuous modes
is announced to us
and twist of your hair still
and your eyes with those halved curves

In an alley behind the highway
we get wet

Behavior of the crowd

Swallow your colors
on the ugly and tall tower
sunk in the dusty air of Tehran
the plates
adjust them on the crowd

From the view of tower
behavior of the crowd
passes more reasonable in this street
and Eyd shopping is not bad anyway

Under this perpendicular
have covered two vortexes of a triangle
and fourth vortex
behaves more freely

Let go of eyes of the girl who does not exist anymore
the plates are covered with spell
here is no triangle
there is no tower
there is no eye out of the socket
there is no crowd
there is no color on the hand
there is no sound
just the smoke has covered the street a little
from the top of the tower