The Fish

I don't suppose
my heart was ever
warm and red
like this before.
I sense that
in the worst moments of this black, death-feeding repast
a thousand thousand well-springs of sunlight,
stemming from certitude,
well up in my heart.
I sense, further, that
in every nook and cranny of this salt barrenness of despair
a thousand thousand joy forests,
stemming from the soil,
are suddenly springing.
Oh, lost certitude, oh, sea-creature
fleeing in the concentric,shivering,mirroring pools
I am the clear pool:
mesmerized by love,
search out a path for me
among the mirror pools.
I don't think
my hand was ever
strong and alive
like this, before.
I sense that
at the flow of blood-red tears in my eyes
a dusk less sun pours forth a song.
I sense that
in my every vein,
in time with my every heart beat,
the warning bell of a departing caravan tolls.
She, bare, came one evening
through the door
like the soul of water.
At her breast
two fish
In her hand a mirror
Her wet hair,
moss fragrance, intertwined moss.
On the threshold of despair,
I bellowed: Ah, oh retrieved certitude.
I won't put you again aside.

by Ahmad Shamloo

Comments (2)

Millions of years I may need, Your books for me to read, And cover all the pages, That have surpassed many ages..................i may need years to understand and it is so deep and has supassed many ages.. so wonderful write....10
Before many years, the poem you have written with your own style, really brings the vastness and depth ness into even a dull mind. I find no appropriate words to appreciate.