​Translated from the Farsi by Farhad Azad
How bare the gardens of our love,
Without you in my thoughts—oh, unattainable one—
even more parched than before
sleeping like a droplet in the throat of the vine
I have surrendered my heart to the earth’s warm hope,
I arrive so your earth, newly blossomed and green—
—like the devout hush of morning solitude—
I may bring an offering of prayer
and our hands, which, caressed by passing cloud and wind,
have wept with rain-like tears
and love’s four seasons, rooted in Balkh—
—they have bound to every horizon
high upon Ahriman’s throne*, God...
Ah, oh earth, more patient than patience!
you have grown heavy with sorrow for my sake
you have grown heavy with sorrow for your own
In the Zoroastrian faith, which originated in Balkh, the spirit of absolute evil and darkness is Ahriman (اهرمن). The poet, himself a native of Balkh, sees his world flipped upside down, with forces of malice placing God upon the throne of darkness. Like his fellow Balkhi contemporary, Wasef Bakhtari (1943-2023), Roien masterfully revives pre-Islamic imagery and ancient mythologies as symbols in his poetry—a deliberate reclaiming of a rich, historical past that was suppressed for generations under rigid religious censorship.
An Introduction to the Poem
I recently discovered this touching poem by Raziq Roien (b. 1950), published in the September/October 1988 issue of the Kabul-based magazine Sabawoon. Written in 1986 while he was pursuing his PhD abroad in Sofia, Bulgaria, the poem offers a telling gaze into his homeland from afar.
He evokes the image of a parched garden—his beloved country—and expresses his readiness to return, fully aware that the raging conflict has left even nature itself—in the form of passing clouds—mourning in sympathy.
For me, the most arresting part of the poem is its unsettling imagery of darkness and evil usurping the throne of goodness and light, as forces of war have taken over the land, turning everything upside down.
It is as if Roien were peeking into the future, foreseeing a time when the malice overtaking his homeland would become so absolute that it would govern all, leaving the spirit of virtue dethroned. But he is hopeful that virtue may prevail as it calls to the people of his homeland.
He closes the poem on a message of deep, cyclical grief: a silent witness to a land made sorrowful by its people's suffering, leaving the soil to mourn itself.
— Farhad Azad, Spring 2026 | بهار ۱۴۰۵
The printed poem in the September/October 1988 issue of the Kabul-based magazine Sabawoon
