Beshmar

Shahin Najafi
2 years ago 4K 0

 


بشمار
اولین قطعه از آلبوم چل


شعر درمون نیس دردیه معجون
  از غم و خشم  و جنون
معدوم
اونکه می‌بازه سر و تو هنر  پس
معلومه
محصول فاسد مزرعه حاصل کار یه مشت فاسده مقصود
پول
مشکوک
مسؤل
معشوق
مشتری
موردی مصرفی
دولت
مقروض
ملت
مغضوب
کاسب حرمت داره اونکه می‌دوشتت فرضش این که گاوی
گف نقشت چیه رهبری؟ گفتم نه بگو آقای راوی
چش و چالا از اسید له
بی‌چاره‌ای تو مسیر مه
مشق مرگ
اشک سرد
رد خون
رو ورق
پشت و نگاه نکن برنگردد
فامیلِ من بود اونکه بی‌جون تا پشت میله رفت و سر داد
تکلیف ما با خون تو خیابون روشن میشه سردار
نه بدن ضعیف از تزریق
نه بزل و بخشش نه تشویق
تاریخ بخونه شرح حال مارو
فردا بشنون این واژه‌هارو
بشمار
بشمار بدن بچه‌های بی‌کفن تو نیزار و
بشمار  صدای کارگر عزادار و
بشمار  گلوی بریده‌ی بی‌آزارو
بشمار


زندگی رو طناب ته دره ،این و اونو بنداز تا نیفتی
نصف دیگش زیر حلقه‌ی دار و ‌ بن بست بند و شام 
مفتی
فردا این جوجه زامبیا از تخم درآن شاخن برات
دستت داره دور گردنا اون دستا هم دارن برات


لیلامون بورسیه نداشت پدرش بیزنس روسیه نداشت
از جیب ضعفا نزد و خونه، مغازه و ارثیه نذاشت


محسن ما کف دستش خطخطی بود  از کار بی‌دستکش
لات اجاره‌ای نبود خم شه کرنش کنه پیش هر کوسکش
پیشکشتون سینه سوراخ استخونا شکسته سر گل داد
سیرِ به وقتش سهمشو خورد و گشنه رو جلو گلوله هل داد


سهم من یه باک بنزین شانس ممد کنه خرجی بدنت
صبر من تیز  رو زمین ضعیف کشتی خوردی زدنت
دستامون که گره شه به هم سیل بغض ملت رها شه
حکم ماس مشت اول انگشت وسط روی ماشه

نه وقت مرثیه پرثیه هست تفنگ و پر کن از  خشم کوچه
ترک تحصیل
 تلخ  تحقیر
طرد و تحمیل
بی صدا هارو  صدا کن
پاپتی‌های بی‌فردارو
بشمار  مغز پاشیده زیر پارو
بشمار گوله تو گلبرگ «پویا»رو
بشمار 
 خالد احمد رضا
آرین آرمین حسام
ساسان نیکتا امیر پژمان میلاد عدنان مجبتی حسن کاوه یونس جبار سلمان عمران
پر کینه‌ام رو به دشمنی که غاصب آزادی منه

مسئله‌ی اول و آخر عدالت، آزادی میهنه
 

Count!
 

Poetry is not the remedy, it’s a pain, a mixture of sorrow, rage and madness
One who loses their life in Art, is exterminated Then it’s clear that
the rotten crop of the farm is the outcome of the labor of a bunch of corrupted The aim (is the)
Money (which is)
suspicious
The responsible (is)
the beloved (who is the)
customer (who is)
utilized as disposable
The government (is)
indebted
The nation (is)
disfavored
The (real) tradesman has dignity, the one who milks (exploits) you, assumes that you’re a cow! They asked what your rule is, are you a leader? I said no! Call me “Mr. Narrator”!
The eyes are chinked by acid
You are helpless in the misty road
Practicing dying
Cold tears
Bloodstain
on the paper
Don’t look back, don’t turn
They were of my family who feebly went behind the bars and lost their lives
Hey General! We’ll sort things out about the blood on the streets!
Count!
The body is not weak of (drug) injections
Don’t forget! Don’t forgive! Don’t encourage doing so!
The history shall read our story
They would hear these words
Count!
Count the coffin-less bodies in the canebrake!
Count the shouts of the mourning laborers!
Count the innocent throats which were cut!
Count!
Life is like a rope down the vale, shove the others down so that you won’t fall!
The rest of the rope is a gallows, a prison with
free meals!
Tomorrow these Zambi-Chickens will bully you, when they hatch from their eggs!
Your hands are gallows around the necks, these hands will have a plan (a gallows) for you too! Our “Leila” had no scholarship, her father had no business with Russia
She didn’t rob the poor, she had neither property, nor inheritance
Our “Mohsen” had scars on his palms, because of laboring without gloves
He wasn’t a hired villain who bows before any ***
Dedicated to you a shot chest, the broken bones and a head which flowered (splattered)
The satiate one ate their share at its time and shoved the hungry one towards the bullets
My share is (just) a full petrol tank, if luck is on my side I would spend (splash) it on your body My patience is (like) a knife on the ground, you killed the weak, (now) you’ll pay back!
When our hands become united fists, when the flood of people’s anger releases
Our verdict is the first punch, (and) the middle fingers on the triggers
It’s no time of mourning, load the gun with the rage of the street!
(You) dropped out of school
(You were) humiliated
(You were) rejected and imposed
Call the voiceless!
(Call) the homeless of tomorrow!
Count the splattered brains on the ground!
Count the bullets to “Pooyas”’s petal (body)!
Count!
“Khalid”, “Ahmad”, “Reza”
“Arian”, “Armin”, “Hesam”
“Sasan”, “Nikta”, “Amir”, “Pejman”, “Milad”, “Adnan”, “Mojtaba” “Hasan”, “Kaveh”, “Yunus”, “Jabar”, “Salman”, “Omran” 1

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1. Names of some protesters who were killed recently by the Islamic government in Iran.
Translation: Nik Rastin