by Shakila Azizzada

It's been years since we could say
‘with luck, we'll meet again',
since now we know for certain
we'll only meet on Judgement Day.
I know you'd cheer me up.
You'd tell me,
‘those black school tights
looked gorgeous on your legs.'
If only, just for once,
I could see
your shy glance
stop fluttering and fall
and be riveted
once more
on my laces.
Heads or tails? 
Before waking from a night
of tossing and turning, maybe
I'll meet you again
under the wings
of a rambling rose by a stream
in a dream broken
by the buzzing of a bee
round a pomegranate,
split open.

The literal translation of this poem was made by Zuzanna Olszewska

The final translated version of the poem is by Mimi Khalvati


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