I have a morsel of bread,A flicker of wisdom,A needle’s tip of longing.I know well—My canvas holds no life.

The water that quenched my thirst
Flowed without philosophy.
I plucked mulberries in ignorance,
And when a pomegranate split apart,
Desire burst from my hands like a fountain.

At times, loneliness pressed its face
Against my windowpane,
Its breath fogging the glass.

My translation of a few lines from Sohrab Sepehri's long poem "Sound of Water's Footsteps."

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