Almost 50 years ago, my Great-Uncle Houshang, a lawyer by profession and a poet by passion, penned a poem protesting the invasion of Vietnam by the American army. Today, half a century later, I translated his poem into English as wars all around the world continue to rage on…

Homegoing

He had a scarce moment to spare

On an envelope did he dare

to write;

“To the light of my life,

my fire, my wife,

And my infant child

my wild rosebud, my pride…”

The light did not burn,

And the postman, amongst all that was shelled

found not the home, nor the love

nor the restless, nest-less dove

Tearfully he spelled;

“Return”

جنگ

جوان ز فرصت استفاده کرد و
روی پاکتی نوشت
“تقدیم به زنم،
چراغ خانه‌ام،
و کودکم،
گلم،
جوانه‌ام…”
… … … …
چراغ خانه خاموش بود
و پستچی میان شخم‌زارهای بمب
نیافت خانه را
کبوتر بی‌آشیانه را
و آن خران‌زده جوانه را
گریه کرد و روی پاکت نوشت:
“بازگشت”