I Pity the Garden

No one thinks of flowers No one thinks of fishes No one wishes To believe that the garden is dying That the garden's heart is swollen in the sun That the garden's mind is softly, slowly Emptying of green memories And the garden's perception seems to be An abstract thing rotten in the garden's solitude Our house is lonely Our house Yawns In anticipation of the rainfall of an unknown cloud And our pond is empty Inexperienced little stars Fall to the ground from lofty trees And from among the pale windows of fish houses The sound of coughing can be heard at night Our house is lonely. 'Lyrics by Forough Farrokhzad'