Mysterious Nucleus

Dreaming, I talk to water
It's morning o god
A woman, I sweep wash beat
the fork foamed and trays bleared
the gun snatched away and a woman disturbed
a woman, I beat with a wet spoon that becomes a gun again
the chest of the world disturbed …
I stand
Where am I
amid mysterious nucleus
in Iran in a narrow kitchen
amid middle-aged dented dishes.
How mysterious is this nuclear weapon, man!
War is a war
Hey, disturbed children of Iran
frantically, with a gun washed of war
I fight the nucleus of cherries, plums … laugh … laugh!
Damn the nucleus of all apples, all peaches.
Ah humanity, where's your nucleus.
Where o where?  
Sound of water and the woman disturbed
O boy, how much blood should she wash off forks?
Gentlemen, would you like toothpicks?
The woman disturbed is a poet cornered in a house disturbed.
A kitchen narrower then hair's breadth that's I
I who crack
in a land disturbed of you of locusts of us that's I
I who've thrown up my being
Thrown up the scum of my being
Hey guns, where am I?
Where on my desk burns no candle, dances no butterfly
Hey windows all shut down
What are this city's civilized women doing?
It's morning, o god
on these cross-roads that lead to a dead-end
these child hookers of all trades
how soon they grow!
By days and force and begging
pardon me Miss, do you work too?
All work, all all work. Fasten your belt
Would you like toothpicks?
Such a city, Miss, home full of holes, streets so long.
Do you work too Miss?
A woman, I slap smack all ears
Crash! These plates are all cracked
Oh it's noon, o god
How long should I stand till the death of my tummy-filling pot
of pain, of grief.
Where can I sit a bit, contemplate the cosmos?
The war is that of the pits at the floor of seas, skies
Hush     hush!
You've stitched hands on my lips  
Ah hush I hush
Ah, I'm a mad poet, washed the nucleus arm with
detergent, should I dry and give it to you?
Now clap     laugh
I've become full of bubbles
In sleep perhaps I've died of bubbles
Would you like toothpicks,   gentlemen?
It's morning, o god
No steed to lure me to sea
No star to swell me in the fields
No peace to calm me in this town
Allow me to say it's evening
I'm calm, a toothpick my pillow
I who've been called human for years
and know well the place of things from the museum
to the kitchen to the chapel that's holy as hell.
Full well I know in a land disturbed
God is not worth a chair
for me to sit a bit in joy      in joy
to contemplate the joy of sitting and being
It's morning o God.
My place is a disturbed drugstore, kitchen, morgue
war     escape       war      escape
Gentleman, kuzette was I, relic of my mother
through work books disturbed,
starved,   I stole Edison in candle-light.
Starving I grew up
For a girl disturbed whose breast laughs
at the womb of all apples
laughed at a house disturbed
and with Charlie's dance laughed not a bit
at the god over her head.
By the way, was it Rachitism Charlie suffered from?
It's morning o god.
A woman, I take my body to the streets
I love penguins.
Love Charlie's dance.
Love my mom who was a tired charlie
with thighs open who bore a dozen
saints in order to reach god.
It's morning my god
My house on the foam
Odor of Halabche in Hiroshima   
He came      coming
It's morning o god
Stitch hands to my lips
Yet
plant being once more.

Translation from Persian by Saeed Saeedpoor