καιρός remembered

And her name is Freedom

She noticed that I was looking closely at the reliefs on a wall at Persepolis. She asked if I liked them. She was sitting on a bench and offered me some nuts. I sat down next to her and we got talking – about art, about my country, about hers. She was still living at home in nearby Shiraz, with her parents and siblings. She loved her family; she loved Shiraz. She spoke very candidly and animatedly, and every now and then would tell me to help myself to some more nuts. She wanted to improve her English because she was thinking of going abroad – due to the difficult situation in her country. When she told me her name, she said it meant ‘freedom’.

Had she lived in the 14th century, she would certainly have inspired her illustrious fellow townsman Hafiz to write one of his lyrical poems.

A rose blooms within me, wine is in my hand,
And my beloved embraced.
(…)
My eyes are always on red lips
And on the circulating cup.
In our assembly bring no rose perfumes,
We breathe the fragrance of your long hair.
Do not praise to me the taste of sugar,
For my desire is satisfied on your sweet lip.
(…)
Hafiz, do not sit one moment without your love or wine,
For these are days of rose, jasmine and celebration.

Will wine and festive occasions ever return to the sons and daughters of Shiraz?

(Translation of part of an ode by Hafiz by R.M. Rehder)

Photo of the week: Freedom, Shiraz-Persepolis, Iran 2017