The Idol - Breaker’s Calendar
Translated by: Dr. Sharef Fayez

The spring is dead and a flock of black vultures
have laid on the sun’s bloody seat
a feast of stars’ bones and skull of the moon
The spring is dead and nobody measures life and light
with the sun’s breaths
And nobody knows that the sun in my land
has grown several centuries old
in three hundred sixty-five days
Spring is dead and nobody knows
who from the devil party fired the first bullet
during the execution rite of the sun
Spring is dead and the ashamed mourning multitudes
in the blue seclusion of Nirvana
heard only the sound of a blast
that blew apart the history’s millennia-old mind
The spring was dead when the “Islamic Gateway”
was auctioning pieces of our torn body
at the crossroads of conspiracy
at the crossroads of the “Idol-Breaker’s Calendar”
The centuries-old dead bodies died
several thousand times in their old graveyards
And the centuries-old dead bodies
died of shame several thousand times again
in the old graveyards
When the “Islamic Gateway” on
the broken faces of Kabul walls
inscribed in bold-faced letters:
Congratulations on the Victory
April 2001