For Azad on the Anniversary of His Birth

Father and Son


by: Majid Naficy


You took me by surprise, Azad!
Unintentionally conceived
Prematurely born
You put your tiny body
In the cradle of my bosom:
"Now, I am the son and you are the father.
How long do you want to remain
The rebellious child of this house?"

I bent over the illegible letters of your body.
With wet hair and sticky skin
You resembled a little fish
Coming from a far away ocean
To drag this tired old whale
Into fearful whirlpools.

I wanted to cut your umbilical cord
But the scissors did not penetrate the flesh.
You cried out behind closed eyes:
"Dad, I am here.
Don't you feel my sticky skin
On your fingertips?"
The nurse said: “Enough Daddy!
It has only a symbolic meaning.”

Esmat smiled under a yellow light
And looked at the strange riddle
She had put in front of me:
Am I now closer to death
Or further from it?

At home, I set aside my philosophical riddle.
The aroma of your body
Is my single favorite answer.
Your beautiful eyes talk to me
And your black bangs
Shine like a badge of courage.
Your smile is not fake
And tears simply signal your pain.
Your yawning is the portion
That your sleep steals from wakefulness.
With your refreshing burps
I open a window to the fresh air of early morning
And with your pleasant farts
I roll over the cool summer afternoons.
Oh, you bad gases, go out!
Let my child be calm.

"Lullaby, lullaby, my almond blossom!
Close your eyes, sleep calmly.
"Lullaby, lullaby, may you be my rose!
May you always be my companion!
"Lullaby, lullaby, my fig blossom!
Mama has heavy shackles on her feet
Her eyes are sleepy
But her heart is wakeful."

When I called Iran
My mother said: “Finally
You became a father.”
But when I heard my father’s voice
Tears did not let me talk.
Father! What is this burden that from your shoulders
You put on my tired back?
I was a rebel for thirty six years
And now I should play the role of an executioner
Saying: This is good, that is bad
This is right, that is wrong
This is God, that is evil
This is order, that is chaos.
Ah, Azad, dear!
Do you want to change me
Into a mullah and jailor
Reveal my hand
And say the game is over?
No! I will come with you
And will search with your eyes
So that I can find “buts”
In all “musts” of the world.
I will barricade with you
Behind a pile of empty bottles of milk
Dirty diapers and bibs
And every-hour-tightening clothes
And will announce:
Many fathers remain with their sons
Many fathers rebel against their sons!
I, too, should explore
This world anew
Clean its dust
Cleanse its dirt
And wash myself in its fountainhead.
You should not think of a father
And I will not think of a son.
My friend!
Our hearts are enough.

Now it is your milk time.
I open the refrigerator
Take a bottle of milk
Put it in warm water
Hang a white bib
Around your neck
And let the drops of fresh milk
Drip over your squeezed gums.

My Azad! My buddy!
My darling! My little one!
Let life and death
Smile through our lips.


May 1988

https://iroon.com/irtn/blog/19268/father-and-son/