^{translated from the Persian by Haleh Liza Gafori}

Go ahead, Lord, break our harp.
We have thousands upon thousands of harps.  

We’ve fallen into Love’s arms. 
We’re torn by Love’s claws.  
We’re carried by Love’s music. 
Who cares if we lose a harp or flute?

And if every instrument in the world burns to ash? 
No matter.  
The heart’s hidden instruments play on.

Their resonance—their rhythm and shimmer— 
rise up to the circling stars, 
whether or not ears are tuned to hear.  
   
Say every candle, every flickering lamp dies out.  
No reason to despair.  
Within us, we carry the flint and steel to spark a flame. 
   
Driftwood floats on waves. Music floats on air.   
Hidden in the depths of the ocean, pearls shine.
We hear their dazzling echo. 
Longing for union, melodies branch out   
to reach the root of all.

Close your mouth. 
Open the window in your heart. 
That’s how you hear spirits sing.  
That’s how you answer back. 

[!و بشکن چنگ ما را ای معل]

!و بشکن چنگ ما را ای معل
هزاران چنگ دیگر هست اینجا

چو ما در چنگ عشق اندر فتادیم
!چه کم آید بر ما چنگ و سرن؟

رباب و چنگ عالم گر بسوزد
!بسی چنگی که پنهانیست یار

ترنگ و تنتنش رفته به گردون
اگر چه ناید آن در گوش صما

چراغ و شمع عالم گر بمیرد
چه غم چون سنگ و آهن هست برجا

به روی بحر خاشاک است اغانی
نیاید گوهری بر روی دریا

ولیکن لطف خاشاک از گهر دان
که عکس عکس برق اوست بر ما

اغانی جمله فرع شوق وصلست
برابر نیست فرع و اصل اصلا

دهان بربند و بگشا روزن دل
از آن ره باش با ارواح گویا

^{Then into your life
there comes a darkness
    —Radiohead}
 

It’s never our finest hour in America but right now,
most things at the ledges of my life are like the sad
shuffling at the edge of an LP. This one time, I forgot

to pick up the tonearm & heard polyvinyl lamentations
until Thursday when I finally realized the sounds were from
my speakers & not one of my own haunted creation.

I would have laughed, but it was war time yet again:
more air strikes crumbling schools, more drone opportunities
& misplaced homilies. You got to be kidding me.

Polished tanks cresting possibility’s hill for another,
unrequited salvo. All the mystifying UFOs & split
infinities in the record’s imaginary are in the past as it

kept playing its static goodbyes: little hiccupping pleas
until somebody, finally, flipped off the infernal machine.