Sa’di[2] called death a wolf
Who snatches sheep at every moment
From the herd of the village.
But I saw you, on that white bed
Lying like a feather-plucked bird
With closed wings and browned skin,
And death like a hungry traveler
Sitting before a white tablecloth
With silver knife and fork in hand
And a red glass on the side.
I opened the curtain and said:
“What are you waiting for, death?
Have your dinner and go away.”
Last night at your bed
While holding your burning hand
And listening to the breathing pump
I heard the heavy footsteps of death
In the hallway of the nursing home
And whispered in your ear:
“Be calm, Let your body go
This flesh and these bones will be his share
And your immortal stories
Will belong to the living.”
Then death knocked on the door
And I hurried to hide myself
Behind the white curtain.
October 27, 2008
[1] Bijan K. Moghadam (1948-2008) One of the best Iranian writers of short stories in exile and a member of the literary circle of “Saturday’s Notebooks” in Los Angeles. He has two books in Persian: “rahbandan” (Traffic Jam)1989 and “khab-e magas” (Fly Dream) 2008. Bijan has left behind a son and a daughter.
[2] Sa’di, a great Persian poet in thirteenth century.
