“Through the Window of Taj Mahal” is Mahmud Kianush’s English translation of one of his earlier books and it was published in the UK in 2007.
In 1972, when Kianush initially wrote the verses for this collection, censorship focused less on the literal content and more on potential subversive implications. Even the innocuous mention of a “forest” could arouse suspicion among the authorities, who might interpret it as a veiled reference to underground groups, such as those active in the Siyahkal Forest in northern Iran.
This narrow-minded approach ‘by the regime’, spurred artists to defy it, employing subtle references to other cultures and distant lands in their work.
Kianush skillfully wove such imagery into his poetry, titling one piece “Through the Window of Taj Mahal” when he actually intended “Through the Window of Persepolis,” a symbol of imperial power rather than the Maharajas. Ironically, in Persian, “taj” means “crown” and “mahal” means “place,” making “Taj Mahal” a fitting metaphor for a king’s palace.
Selected Poems from this Collection
Click on the title to view the entire Poem
Emigration of Illumination
For how long
Your stretched hands will continue
To invite the Sun
Into the cold of your heart?
Tell your feet
To pick up the first blossoms
From the divine bosom of the Earth.
The Abyss of Famine
With a red spot on her brow,
A red apple in her womb,
And a red rose in her mouth,
She is returning from the tea fields.
Geography
The Earth,
My place of exile,
Is bounded on the north by Motion,
On the south by Blood,
On the east by Passion,
And on the west by Repetition.
Save Me
She came through the door
With the treasure of loneliness in her eyes,
And the Spring pregnant in her bosom,
And the Sun waiting for the dawn in her womb.
Through the Window of Taj Mahal
Lost in amazement,
He was standing in the Palace of History
And through the window of Taj Mahal
He could see elephants marching
From the Gate of Emerald,
All the way to the coast of Blood.
In the Garden of Ignorance
In all the gardens of Nirvana
I could never find
A blossom of meat
Or a leave of bread.
Without Memory
And again I was thinking
What should I be?
What should I do?
And what the future will be?
Freedom
Freedom does not make its nest
In isolated cries;
Tell the dissidents to grow a tree
Rising high above the sun,
With branches spreading
All over the earth.
Read the complete book of poems:
An original bilingual edition of “Through the Window of Taj Mahal”
by Mahmud Kianush,
presented in both English and Persian.
Copyright shall at all times remain vested in the Author. No part of the work shall be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the Author’s express written consent.
