In the first room of the world, we were
as warm, as moist as vagina.
The lips were beside the necks.
A candle was lit beside your bed.

The smell of sweat, the sound of gasping;
body was the only language.
The early human
was screaming inside you

In the second room of the world
we are arguing on war.
By the sentences made of blood
we are fisting, stone falling.

You sat like a cold weapon
in a corner, more sorrowful than me.
A word has sat in the throat to read
the tears in pressure are in my eyes

In the third room of the world
a doors is beside a suitcase.
We are not anymore, everything happens
is a boring happening

I, the pane of prison’s fan, am rotating
toward your air.
You, a one-way ticket to…,
your seat maybe beside window

“WE” is a delusion remained
in a corner of the last room,
is a half-burnt cigarette after sex,
or two unbelievable words

“W” and “E”; the continuation of the world,
alone; four empty rooms,
“W” and “E”; two erased memories,
the world: four empty rooms.

Fatemeh Ekhtesari

Translated by Hossein Fallah