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1403-07-23|سجاد ملکشاهی
پنج‌شنبه 26 مهر 1403 08:54
در تای او ریخته می‌شود در تای تن که گوشت تحریک‌پذیر است شق می‌شود و آبستن حوا-دث رانه‌ای که حوا را حشری می‌کند مانند زن‌اش با پستان‌های چسبیده به پوست و موهای بُریده چرا که ستاندن گذشته‌ی عبوری بر تنش ثقیل خواهد بود و زیر آن چیزهایی از قبیل انگشت‌های چرخ‌خورده دور قبیله‌های قضیب او را به لحظه‌های ارگاسم نزدیک می‌کند...
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To The Reader|Charles Baudelaire
سه‌شنبه 21 فروردین 1403 02:10
Folly, depravity, greed, mortal sin Invade our souls and rack our flesh; we feed Our gentle guilt, gracious regrets, that breed Like vermin glutting on foul beggars' skin Our sins are stubborn; our repentance, faint We take a handsome price for our confession Happy once more to wallow in transgression Thinking vile...
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Travelling Bohemians|Charles Baudelaire
سه‌شنبه 21 فروردین 1403 01:50
The prophetic tribe of the ardent eyes Yesterday they took the road, holding their babies On their backs, delivering to fierce appetites The always ready treasure of pendulous breasts The men stick their feet out, waving their guns Alongside the caravan where they tremble together Scanning the sky their eyes are...
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The Carcass|Charles Baudelaire
سه‌شنبه 21 فروردین 1403 01:40
Remember that object we saw, dear soul In the sweetness of a summer morn At a bend of the path a loathsome carrion On a bed with pebbles strewn With legs raised like a lustful woman Burning and sweating poisons It spread open, nonchalant and scornful Its belly, ripe with exhalations The sun shone onto the rotting heap...
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The Albatross|Charles Baudelaire
سه‌شنبه 21 فروردین 1403 01:35
Often to pass the time on board, the crew will catch an albatross, one of those big birds which nonchalantly chaperon a ship across the bitter fathoms of the sea Tied to the deck, this sovereign of space as if embarrassed by its clumsiness pitiably lets its great white wings drag at its sides like a pair of unshipped...
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The Enemy|Charles Baudelaire
سه‌شنبه 21 فروردین 1403 00:53
My youth was nothing but a black storm Crossed now and then by brilliant suns The thunder and the rain so ravage the shores Nothing's left of the fruit my garden held once I should employ the rake and the plow Having reached the autumn of ideas To restore this inundated ground Where the deep grooves of water form...