Friday

My silent Friday,
My deserted Friday,
My Friday: sad, like old abandoned lanes.

My Friday:
The cold day of ailing, idle thoughts,
Moist day of long, evil bore,
loaded with grief
grief for my faith, for my hope,
Oh, my Friday, this renouncing day…

Oh, this empty room,
Oh, this gloomy house…

These isolating walls from attacks of youth,
These collapsing roofs on my slight daydream of light,
In this place of lone, reflection and doubt,
In this space of shade, text, image and sign.

My life, like a mysterious river,
streamed into those silent, deserted days,
so calmly with a lot of pride.

My life, like a mysterious river,
Streamed into those empty, gloomy rooms,
so calmly with a lot of pride

Forough Farokhzad