Aboutorab Naficy (1914-2007)

 

Forgetfulness  

        By Majid Naficy

        To My Father


For a long time the wind
Has scattered my notebook.
In vain I run after every leaf 
And put a clod of earth on each one.
Memories empty me
And a heavy mist
Covers my signs.

My forefathers were physicians for seven generations.
Nafis son of Evaz went from Kerman to Samarkand
To serve in the court of Ulugh Beg.
My father was a village doctor in Pudeh.
I went to Tehran to study medicine
And practice in Isfahan.
Now at the end of this path
I have become a patient myself.

Every morning, as was my routine before,
I shave and put on clothes
To go visiting my patients.
But my lady wants me to stay home
And, instead, write my memoir.

Will love save me?
I remember her at the time of our engagement.
She caught typhoid and was close to death.
At that time, I was a medical draftee.
Once I came to her bed.
Behind the window, cherry blossoms
Were gently dancing with the wind.
Her eyes were closed.
I held her hand and for the first time
Kissed her fingers.

        May 19, 1996 

https://iroon.com/irtn/blog/17208/forgetfulness/