I feel sad,
I feel blue.

I go outside and rub my cold fingers-
on the sleek shell of the silent night.

I see that all lights of contact are dark,
All lanes to relate us- are blocked.

Nobody will introduce me to the sun,
Nobody will take me- to the gathering of doves.

Keep the flight in mind,
The bird may die.
Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani, September 2006, Montreal