Yousef

Yousef…

Your mother asked only

that I write a poem for you;

but whenever I thought of your going,

my heart could not bear it and ached.

How deeply she loves you,

that her only wish

is for others too to know your name;

the name of an innocent young man

whose place in this world remained empty.

Yousef…

In the stories,

Jacob at last

saw his Joseph again;

but your mother

calls your name every evening,

and silence

is her only answer.

You will no longer

by any road

come home;

not to put on

the jacket you loved,

nor with that laugh

that still

remains in the walls of the house.

Grief for you

is not the sorrow of a day and a night;

it is a flame

that for ever

burns in your mother’s heart,

and time

has no power to put it out.

But know, Yousef,

you are not only in your mother’s heart;

your name remains in all our hearts,

and Iran

in you

and in all those whose names live on,

who left us innocent,

will take pride.

S. Rouzbeh