یکی دو هفته می‌شود که توی این قصرم و هیچ اتفاق نیافتاده

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For Two Weeks I have been in this Palace. Nothing has Happened¹

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Baghdad’s arches and the arches of the Tigris —

The story left unfinished

may turn into a poem and a poem

finished                       can make a story. That’s why poets

always break the lines of their poems. And I want

from among those pointless walks around Baghdad

to break the line on a house in the bazaar

carpeted with many marbled stones in The Thousand and One Nights, where the ceilings

are painted turquoise and gold.

“Ten dinars a month for rent!”

“Are you kidding?”

“I’m not kidding,” the doorkeeper said, “but whoever enters the house

gets sick and within two weeks dies.”

For two weeks

I’ve been in this palace and nothing has happened.

I’ve only seen sunsets of gold:

you can hear them!

“Hey, boy, you haven’t seen the palace belvedere?” the doorkeeper’s wife said.

But what is on the roof

other than Baghdad’s arches and the arches of the Tigris —