Mahnaz Badihian Oba

Manoochehr Atashi the famous Iranian poet has died today.
The reason for his death was cardiac arrest after kidney surgery in Tehran,Iran.
He was 74 years old.

Poem is dream, but
to see, no need to sleep.
From room you go to balconey,
With your slippers on, but no response.
You arrive from the bridge in the backyard.
passing by the water fountain. and you
Open the door to an unknown guest,
who has not sent a message, but
you were expecting him.
He is here and you know he is 
where he is suppose to be.You go back
with him, shoulder to shoulder.
He seats in the balconey and drinks 
cups of tea, with basil and orange blossom.
He opens the mystery of world
In a cup as small as a word but
contains in it all oceans and thunder.

Translated from Farsi by: Mahnaz Badihian

Afghan poet dies after battering 

Nadia Anjoman had a cut to her head: 
A well-known Afghan poet and journalist has died from her injuries after being beaten, police say. 
Officers found the body of Nadia Anjuman, 25, at her home in the western city of Herat. 

A senior police officer said her husband had confessed to hitting her during a row. 

Nadia Anjoman, a student at Herat university, had a first book of poetry printed this year. She was popular in Afghanistan and neighbouring Iran. 

Police say the poet received a cut to her head. Blood she vomited may help determine the cause of death, the Pajhwok news agency reported. 

It said her family had refused to allow doctors to carry out a post mortem.

A poem by: Nadia Anjoman
Translated by: Mahnaz Badihian

No desire to open my mouth
What should I sing of…?
I, who is hated by life,
No difference to sing or not to sing.
Why should I talk of sweetness,
When I feel bitterness?
Oh, the oppressor’s fist
Knocked my mouth.
I have no companion in life
Who can I be sweet for?
No difference to speak, to laugh,
To die, to be.
Me and my strained solitude.
With sorrow and sadness.
I was borne for nothingness.
My mouth should be sealed.
Oh my heart, you know it is spring
And time to celebrate.
What should I do with a trapped wing,
Which does not let me fly?
I have been silent for too long, 
But I never forget the melody, 
Since every moment I whisper 
The songs from my heart, 
Reminding myself of
The day I will break the cage.
Fly from This solitude
And sing like a melancholic.
I am not a weak poplar tree
To be shaken By any wind.
I am an Afghan woman, 
And so it only makes sense to moan