The Cold Stove...

Surviving from very distant nights...
At a silent road in the woods...
A little stove made of stones...
Contains some cold ashes.

Just like all my thoughts buried in the dust...
Bearing sketches of everything...
A tale whose end is nothing but pain...

My good days that agreed with me...
Have all become an incongruous sketch...
They have grown cold and turned into stone...

Surviving from very distant nights...
At a silent road in the woods...
A little stove made of stones...
Contains some cold ashes...

[By: Nima Yooshij, Father of Iranian contemporary poetry...Translated to English by M. Alexandrian]