MAGIC SUITCASE

I took with me a suitcase,

light, very light,

Two or three sets of baby clothes,

A white georgette dress,

An indistinct photograph of my mother,

wearing a headdress,

And a complete list of traditional things

for the Noe-Rooz's celebrations, ⁽¹⁾

Lest a single thing should be forgotten;

These were what I had,

or rather, people thought I had,

in my suitcase

With which I left the land

of the generous sun.

My suitcase was,

or rather, people thought it was,

very, very light;

But what a big mistake!

You must have seen the shows

of professional magicians;

They put their fingers

up their sleeves,

And take out whatever you may name:

Birds, rabbits, kerchiefs of all colours,

Sometimes a crystal jug,

Sometimes a piece of stone,

Fire, water, soil,

Flowers, thorns and many other things;

So was my empty magic suitcase.

Now it has been almost a lifetime

That from inside the same suitcase

I have been taking out anything I want:

Wonderful springs of Isfahan

And its exhilarating groves

in the outskirts;

The colourful autumn of Shiraz

And the fragrance of its orange trees;

The ancient ruins of Persepolis; ⁽²⁾

The Baghestan Mountain

with its historical inscriptions;

The Palace of Princess Shirin;

The poor village of Cham in Na'in; ⁽³⁾

The tattered dress of Fatima,

a peasant little girl,

And a flock of other children like her,

Who are all in the same suitcase.

I take them out;

I sit and talk with them;

I live with them;

And the moment someone appears,

They all run back into the suitcase,

The very suitcase which people think

must be very light

and almost empty.

When I make my will

I will ask for my suitcase

to be buried with me.

No doubt they will say:

"Her life was madness;

And her will is foolish!

What sort of will is that!

Who needs a suitcase

in the other world?"

Let them say whatever they like;

After all,

who does know the secret

of the professional magician of love?

Is it not true that love

is the astrolabe of God's mysteries? ⁽⁴⁾