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DEATH OF LEAVES:
Poem: Esmail Yourdshahian (
urmia)
A piece of poetry in
honor of the great Nigerian poet and literary Writer who was
assassinated for his noble mind and his desire to see the land
green, ken saro wiwa.
1
They pound a
stone with a stone
the whole night long
people of the town
with a twig on head
in smoke and ash
with song of sadness
for you
who had found out
the mysteries of the
tired land
they pound a stone with
a stone
the stone inflates
is smashed into layers
becomes blood and black
is splashed on the
realm of the land
at a red night
when Satan
sing his song
in fury
till you surrender to
death
wiwa
2
?
A green crown
for the girls of night
a glowing lantern
for the fuggy roads of
the dawn
a bed of flowers
for the wind's comb
which wails
out of the bored and
tired heart of the sea
in a morning when:
three
birds
form seven blasts
Nine stars
From twenty blasts
One thousand hands
From one hundred blasts
perished in the soil
And the moon shed tears
at their bed
On the day of tears
In the morning of the
green and water
Filled with grief of
the sun
The wind
Sang the mysteries of
tired and poisoned soil
For the cliff and water
With the naked and
paralyzed children
And the people of
cocoanut and gas
And orphan girls
With white phosphor of
eye
A wreath of black
flowers
Spread on the threshing
floor of the land
Smelling red and ash –
colored
Were shedding tears
For the wounds of the
land
Which was the death bed
of all stars
And singing sorrowfully
Alas wiwa
Alas wiwa
3
A bed
Bed
of flowers
A candle and a lamp on
her head
With song of gust of
wind
Pound their feet on the
ground
The Nigerian people
For you whom
The moon in
your eyes had shed tears
And the sea
Her mysteries
Had
sung with you.
Till that night
The antique sword of
sovereignty
Muzzled the blossoming
lips with wounds of silence
You surrendered to
death wiwa.
Alas wiwa
The wind no longer will
sing
The song of your
death
Even of your un com
posed piece of poetry
Sing the wounds of
tired hands
You had kissed
And sorrows of your
heart
For the green and soil
You had told
Now the moon
And the black children
in the farms
Shed tears at your bed.
E. Yourdshahian
29. November
1995
malmo - Sweden
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