Bamdad
A man who brought honor to the word man
A man who made the demise of human-kind unlikely
He was a plain to which mountains bow
A man in the mythic form of pain
He was the line that crossed out the thesis of the downfall of love
He reinterpreted all words
He flew to the top of the story, he didn't eulogize
He brought water and fire next to each other in his poem
When everyone is scared of his/her own shadow,
Behind each door someone is shaking
When our brother is on a gallows or in a prison-cell
When each rebellious, strong woman is called a whore
Forough proliferated poetry in our lives
Forough illustrated Fereydoun of the story again
Forough didn't get lost, she didn't close her eyes to deaths of acacias
He sat down, but when they cut his legs
He didn't bend, He died standing up and at his zenith
He didn't sell himself out to the elite for money
Father, you are the replication of a pain afresh
Father, you are the meaning of a poetic life
Father, you are the anger of the street, and the anger is in your fist
Father, you are a poet of a generation who stands behind you
When devil killed love and love lost its meaning
So that no song comes out of a canary's throat
the night that even hangman cried next to the gallows
Kaveh's scream died and a cold slogan
was shouted in the alleys of the city
The mother-sea lashed the sons of uncle-desert
The day that they dragged Hafez in the streets
The judge sentenced atheist Khayam to prison
The day that they killed Sadegh for the crime of committing suicide
all the stray dogs became Tahamtan
Stars were no longer in the sky, they were in Evin prison
Under the feet of each one of our children were mines
All the windows were closed and blackened
The hope for taking an easy breath was smashed
Brother sold brother, father sold mother
They destroyed all beliefs and faiths
God sat and cried, and gave back his god-ness
Satan got drunk of sadness and threw up what he had eaten
They washed the books from words
They forced all the words to sit and cut their necks
Humanity got lost and from genuineness went to show off in religious-beard
Some got their necks thickened from the oil revenues
They covered up women and entered motta with them
They put the red tongue of protest under the blade
But I am a generation that has not lost its roots
I am a broken rancor and a throat full of scream
I am a slapped face and a shroud full of pain
No matter in what conditions and clothes I am, whether I am a woman or man
These days will pass by, I am alive with hope
This situation will change
Will change, I know
This situation will change
Will change, I know
Father, you are the replication of a pain afresh
Father, you are the meaning of a poetic life
Father, you are the anger of the street, and the anger is in your fist
Father, you are a poet of a generation who stands behind you