انار‎

I fear an age
that has lost its heart.
I am scared of the thought
of so many useless hands
and of picturing so many estranged faces.
like a school child
madly in love with her geometry lesson,
I am alone.
and I think that the garden
can be taken to a hospital.
I think…
I think…
I think…
and the garden’s heart has swollen
under the sun,
and the garden's mind is slowly
being emptied of green memories.

Excerpt from “I Feel Sorry for the Garden”

Forugh Farrokhzad