Some of these cities are resistant to all wounds. Like Tehran. “He who cannot sing poetry is not an Iranian,” said Sufi poet Hafez… We came back from Tehran, full of poetry and music…
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I come back from Tehran,
Where life is sweet and bitter at the same time.
I come back from Tehran
full of strength.
I come from Tehran,
World is a liar
and our masters also fool us,
we are the sheeps of a strange colorless wool.
I come back from Tehran,
where my buzuk sang
the stories that I have matured since childhood.
I come back from Tehran,
life is sweet and bitter at the same time.
Who are you to hold me to account?
I’m proud to have drunk at the source,
where the water is bitter and soft at the same time.
Who are you to doubt?
Go to the school of life,
to the university of the world,
learn the nameless taste of pomegranate.
I come back from Tehran
and my shadow whistles a new tune from Khorassan.
I come back from Tehran richer than before,
and we must know that fear will not help us
to defeat our common destiny.
Tomorrow must not be combated,
Tomorrow must be embraced with love.
I come back from Tehran
and I’ll go back,
if Khodâ agree.
Ô Hâfez‑e Shirazi,
Your secret is so well kept:
a silent nightingale is watching jealously
while the injured rose is dormant.
Smelling in the palm of your hand
the scent of the wild poem that is life,
I drink at the stolen moment that your presence inspires.
Titi Robin