What a grand tumult!

Where every cry rise rootless,

from hollow minds,

and the wasteland of those minds…

Alas, were an unseen abyss;

its beginning perhaps known,

its ending lost in a mirage.

Dogmas born of rigid molds,

mimicking the brain-devouring serpents of Zahhak;

and the madness of the minds

doomed them to confinement

in that immense isolation that severed soul from soul.

And the blinding, invisible glare of noon

rose so fiercely to torment the sight,

that the slightest spark of awareness

was a monumental grief in the deepest depth of exhaustion.

And the idols of hollow dogmas—these pathetic, petty gods—

in their absolute, unquestionable bondage to evil,

dragged glory and majesty to the cross.

For they had filled the chalice not with wine, but with venom.

So profound was their addiction to this venom,

that to lose it meant their death;

in their folly,

they drank the sting as if it were nectar.

They were too blind to believe

the malice of their sacred verses

which led to the slaughter of the mystic, Fazlollah.

What a tumult!

One even Satan had never glimpsed in his darkest dreams.

For to remain in the chaos of this moment

is a perpetual curse, an eternity of great torment.

For if the road to our fortress of rebellion—to Alamut—is forever barred,

then even fleeing toward the silent sanctuary of the graveyard holds its own honor.

To be exiled within oneself is far better

than remaining with this monstrous crowd.

And in the end,

no living soul has ever witnessed a winter that lasts forever.

Sadegh Hatefi - Feb 10. 1978- Evin

(*) Fazlollah Naimi, a poet brutally killed by religious decree during Timur’s reign