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Green Pomelo
After mid-autumn, pomelos up in the trees, on after another Plop and drop on the lawn surrounded by trees. See, here and there amid the golden yellow A green on looking still unripe and sour hangs on high
Peeling the Pomelo
Holding a golden moon, This fully ripe pomelo in my hands Heavy and real, I wonder if I should Cleave it open in a knife stroke and eat it up
Pomelo Lantern
So willing I am to let a little knife Cut up my body All the flesh embedding seeds Has backed out From my centre
Before Execution ─ Soliloquy of an Iranian Soldier
Why should I not go home? It is so late If I return to beautiful Khorranmabad I shall find people of my own benevolent race Washing clothes by the brook even at twilight. Will the be humming a merry tune
