A Must Have
Nowadays, coffins are a must have
every household should have at least one.
The families of several people, must have more.
No family would lend one to another.
Mother says:
we must be strong like water,
see the rivers how they carry the bloody bulky sky
just like city streams carrying dead blood
so that not even one drop be captured.
Mother says:
look into my eyes, you see a tree
the one I brought up with my tears
but what is youth good for
if not be killed for a homeland?
Of course everyone would be young someday
all that eyes could behold was night
only the bright light of bullets was visible
though so many pretend to be young
only for the sake of dearest homeland
The city is in strike, nobody works but
carpenters, trees, youngsters and the dead.
Rehearsal
To forget
my Alzheimer,
three times a day
I repeat:
my name,
my father’s and my mother’s names,
my sister’s and my brother’s,
the name of my homeland,
my personal belongings,
the address of my house,
my poems.
The address of my house,
my poems.
The address of my house,
my poems.
As if it were the news,
announcing the names of the war dead.
Every day I lose my sense of ownership.
And losing
is the beginning
of all willed forgetting.
Open Doors
My father
is afraid of every open door.
His bedroom door,
the elevator door,
every open tin can—
he closes them quickly.
My father
is afraid of every rotting door,
even God’s threshold,
which is always open to everyone.
He says:
I have seen it—
when a door is open,
they pour in.
Not only from people, but
they extract confessions
from every open tin,
from every empty room.
My father
is afraid of every door—
open or closed.
Anna
Protecting my homeland,
when the first bomb struck,
I forgot your name,
to keep you safe.
In wartime, many words are only a sound—
yes, they are written and read,
but no longer carry meanings.
Words like: Woman, Life, Freedom, Love, Peace…
For instance, “I love you same as I love my homeland”—
these are phonemes,
written and read,
but their meanings have fled in fear.
Except for the word Woman—no matter what happens,
in the end, she is a mother.
Except for the word soldier—no matter what happens,
in the end, he is a soldier.
When the time comes,
as I call your name—Anna—
I want you to be meaningfully yourself: Anna,
full of restored meanings.
I want that the words—
Woman, Life, Freedom, Bread, Love…
all the words that have been assaulted and violated—
take their meanings from you,
to remember their meanings through you.
War has come.
Now, I must forget you
to keep you safe.
(from “Hello Dear Anna”, 2026)
(Translation by Mohsen K. Rahjerdi)
every household should have at least one.
The families of several people, must have more.
No family would lend one to another.
Mother says:
we must be strong like water,
see the rivers how they carry the bloody bulky sky
just like city streams carrying dead blood
so that not even one drop be captured.
Mother says:
look into my eyes, you see a tree
the one I brought up with my tears
but what is youth good for
if not be killed for a homeland?
Of course everyone would be young someday
all that eyes could behold was night
only the bright light of bullets was visible
though so many pretend to be young
only for the sake of dearest homeland
The city is in strike, nobody works but
carpenters, trees, youngsters and the dead.
Rehearsal
To forget
my Alzheimer,
three times a day
I repeat:
my name,
my father’s and my mother’s names,
my sister’s and my brother’s,
the name of my homeland,
my personal belongings,
the address of my house,
my poems.
The address of my house,
my poems.
The address of my house,
my poems.
As if it were the news,
announcing the names of the war dead.
Every day I lose my sense of ownership.
And losing
is the beginning
of all willed forgetting.
Open Doors
My father
is afraid of every open door.
His bedroom door,
the elevator door,
every open tin can—
he closes them quickly.
My father
is afraid of every rotting door,
even God’s threshold,
which is always open to everyone.
He says:
I have seen it—
when a door is open,
they pour in.
Not only from people, but
they extract confessions
from every open tin,
from every empty room.
My father
is afraid of every door—
open or closed.
Anna
Protecting my homeland,
when the first bomb struck,
I forgot your name,
to keep you safe.
In wartime, many words are only a sound—
yes, they are written and read,
but no longer carry meanings.
Words like: Woman, Life, Freedom, Love, Peace…
For instance, “I love you same as I love my homeland”—
these are phonemes,
written and read,
but their meanings have fled in fear.
Except for the word Woman—no matter what happens,
in the end, she is a mother.
Except for the word soldier—no matter what happens,
in the end, he is a soldier.
When the time comes,
as I call your name—Anna—
I want you to be meaningfully yourself: Anna,
full of restored meanings.
I want that the words—
Woman, Life, Freedom, Bread, Love…
all the words that have been assaulted and violated—
take their meanings from you,
to remember their meanings through you.
War has come.
Now, I must forget you
to keep you safe.
(from “Hello Dear Anna”, 2026)
(Translation by Mohsen K. Rahjerdi)
Author’s Bionote:
*Saber Sadipour was born in Iran in 1981. He completed his undergraduate
degree in psychology and spent many years working
as a journalist covering literature. As a literary expert and
critic, he has been recognized multiple times at various national
festivals. He also serves as a juror for prestigious poetry festivals
in Iran. His poems have been translated into several languages,
and two of his books have been published in Egypt and
Turkey. His poetry explores themes such as love for life and humanity,
equality, peace, and the fight against injustice. Through
his work, he offers nuanced and precise observations on families
and human societies. The poems of the new poetry collection “Hello Dear Anna”(2026) have been named and arranged thematically to guide the reader through the landscape of the poet, s preoccupations: from the immediacy of war and bloodshed, through the rituals of death and mourning, into the dislocation of the refugee, the persistence of love amid devastation, the long shadow of psychological trauma, and finally, the stubborn, flowering resistance of the human spirit.
Translator’s Bionote:
*Mohsen K. Rahjerdi is a literary translator working between
Persian and English. His translations of contemporary Iranian
poetry have appeared in numerous international journals and
anthologies. The collection “Hello Dear Anna”(2026) was arranged thematically to honor the poet’s vision of a world bound together by blood, memory,
love, and the unyielding promise of resistance.