SHIRIN
A film by Abbas KIAROSTAMI
Based on "Khosrow and Shirin" by Farrideh Golbou
Inspired by the work of Hakim Nezami Ganjavi
Screenplay: M. Rahmanian
Directed and Produced by: Abbas Kiarostami
Listen to me, my sisters.
It's time for my story now
Right here,
by the lifeless body of Khosrow,
a man who was your king and my husband until yesterday,
Today, he found refuge in death.
Look, my sisters,
how serene he seems.
As calm as the first time I saw him.
I was seventeen and the world was still young.
How many twilights have passed since then?
How many springs turned into autumns,
to bring us here, to this bloody sight, my Khosrow.
See how your sweet Shirin has become bitter?
O my husband, it is not Shirin's fault,
if the world has become bitter.
This way, this way...
Come our way, Shirin!
This way!
You are trotting, Shirin!
Damn you! But where are you?
Your eyes are blindfolded, open up your ears!
Just follow our voices!
More to the right, More to the left...
You are surrounded by flowers.
Choose one and enjoy its nectar.
What is it?
A piece of wood.
Why is it here?
A gift brought by the winds perhaps!
There is an image engraved on it.
Show us.
What is it?
Nothing, nothing...
Is it for nothing that you all sigh?
Take off my blindfold!
If you do that, you'll be defeated!
Take it off!
This defeat is worth hundreds of victories.
It must be a portrait, engraved by Mani.
Never mind the artist.
Whose face is it?
A prince perhaps... or an angel!
A spirit?
This much beauty can't be human.
The traits might be of an angel,
but portrayed by a demon's hand.
Portrait of an angel, work of a demon!
Leave the portrait, it is damned!
Damned?
Its bad omen will be inflicted upon you.
Let us go!
Go? But where to?
It is not even noon, the excursion is not over yet.
Let us leave this place.
This meadow is haunted by the portrait.
Let's get back to the mountain and its waterfalls.
Stop it!
I told you to stop it!
This portrait...
Here it comes again!
Where is it?
Near that rock, immersed in the water.
Damn this beauty!
Let us pray to get rid of this demon.
Who is he, anyway?
Robbing my heart and my soul?
O Shirin, Princess of Armenia,
why are you so enraptured by him,
you, desired by thousands?
Let us go back to the palace!
Right now! The demons are after us.
Shirin, my niece and my dear daughter.
More than a niece and less than a daughter.
Another aphorism of yours?
Pardon, Your Majesty!
"My aunt" would be preferable, you foolish girl.
You are a queen and I...
And you, my sole heiress.
Sooner or later, you will be on my throne,
delighted by your accession and grieved by my death.
Call me aunt, as royalty is ephemeral
and blood ties eternal.
Why mention death?
Let us talk about joyful matters.
Your excursion was quite short.
I am tired, my aunt.
This horse is stubborn. Riding it is exhausting.
Shabdiz longs for the plains, while in the stable.
Ride him fearlessly through the fields.
The sound of his trot is the sweetest of melodies.
I am sleepy...
Right now, the sweetest of melodies
would be a lullaby sung by a motherly voice.
What a nightmare!
What a grim nightmare!
What is it?
A lamp, a candle, some light!
What is it?
What is wrong?
My Shirin? Another nightmare?
My nightmares are neverending.
But this time, they follow me through the day.
What is this?
The portrait of a handsome man.
Why is it here?
I thought it to be one of your usual acts of mischief.
I should be dammed if I knew anything about this sinister portrait.
It might be the doing of one of your friends.
But why? To inflame my passion?
Inflame it?
At first sight I gave up my heart to this longing.
What a bitter game for sweet Shirin.
But who is he, dear nanny?
You are feverish, my sweet.
You are burning with fever.
Who is he, dear nanny?
Who is he?
Tomorrow you will go to Mount Khazra.
There lives a magus.
He possesses all the secrets of the world.
The secret of all secrets.
He will tell you.
My confidant...
Now, try to sleep.
Night is fading and dawn is coming.
At sunrise I will get Shabdiz ready for you.
Sleep, my sweet, sleep.
A hard day lies ahead of you.
It took me a while to understand that it was all a game,
a grotesque game.
The handsome portrait pursued me, crept even into my chamber.
Changed hands and finally ended up in hands of my confidant.
And that fake magus,
the impostor who manipulated the strings of all the puppets.
Go to Tisfun, my child, to the palace of Madaen.
Why there?
Aren't you looking for the man in the portrait?
- But who is he? - Khosrow, the prince of Persia.
- Khosrow? - Who has fallen in love with you.
In love? With me? But...
In love. There is no if or but, young lady.
How does he know me?
The same way you know him.
He saw a beautiful portrait which was not the image of love,
but love personified.
- And you know all that? - And more.
Your horse, for instance, is your aunt's,
Shabdiz, the greatest of all horses.
Then, omniscient man, do help me,
as I don't have the heart to stay or the courage to go.
Do as you're told: go to Tisfun.
Ride Shabdiz and go full gallop to Madaen.
Your destiny awaits you.
I need to travel as light as the wind.
Farewell mirror and comb.
Farewell pendants and earrings.
Farewell trappings of finery.
Faster, Shabdiz, faster!
The magus told me my destiny awaits me.
If only I could find a spring
to wash out the soil of this tough journey.
O water... water... embrace me,
caress me with your droplets,
hold me like a lover,
take my breath away.
O water, I have such a thirst for you,
keep your thirst for me.
Immerse me in your kisses,
O water.
Who is there?
Who are you?
A stranger who like a thief, spies on me at night?
Was it he?
Khosrow? The prince of Persia?
What was he doing there?
O Destiny...
I was going to Tisfun while he was going to Armenia.
What if my aunt, Queen of Armenia, finds out about my departure?
Gone? Disappeared? As if by magic?
With all the maids of honour and the guards
who were supposed to keep an eye on her?
She could get on Shabdiz and disappear into the night?
Without anyone realising?
- My lady! - Silence!
You are the guiltiest of them all.
Haunted by a nightmare or a dream, she went to look for her beloved.
A young heart is not familiar with loving.
Just a caprice which comes and goes.
You were all sound asleep,
while she was planning her sinister departure.
Madame...
Majesty...
Speak out. Any news of Shirin?
An exhausted horseman is here.
He says he is a prince in disguise.
- What does he want? - He is looking for Shirin.
His name is Khosrow and he requests an audience.
My lady...
If he is a prince, let us treat him courteously.
So be it. Let us welcome him.
Here it is cold.
So cold that my hands and my face are becoming numb.
But my man's body is still warm.
The man for whom I left my country
and adopted this warm land.
Do you hear me, my Khosrow?
For you...
...who anticipated my arrival,
who built this palace for me
and gathered all these servants at my service.
But I was a mountain girl.
I asked your builders to construct me a palace on the mountain sides.
What a sombre residence!
As sombre as its owner.
Is this message from Armenia, from Mahin Banoo?
From Khosrow.
- What game are you playing? - Game?
- I know you from before. - Me?
Don't insult my intelligence by denying it.
We have met before, haven't we?
Yes, Madame.
When and where?
Madame, I...
Once you pretended to be an omniscient magus.
And today you are Khosrow's messenger?
Back then, it was an act.
Today I am being truthful.
I despise the truth that comes from a charlatan like you.
Khosrow awaits you in Armenia, in your aunt's palace.
Khosrow invited me to Tisfun and fled to Armenia himself?
For what reason?
For affairs of state, Madame.
The state has its reasons that even reason ignores.
What's my part in this play?
We were living happily, singing songs amongst friends.
I abandoned my country
for the sake of a sweetheart, who had already gone elsewhere.
The road to love is always hazardous, Madame.
Be courageous! Shabdiz and I look forward to the journey.
What if it's a new trick?
Another plot against me?
He's gone, my child.
Gone? But where?
The king, his father, blinded and captured...
One of his generals greedy for his throne.
And Khosrow must fight for his father, for his throne,
for his kingdom,
but not for his love.
What would you do in his place?
I was born to be flung between one bitter stratagem and another,
like an arrow in the hands of a novice archer.
Shirin, don't ever leave me alone again.
I am exhausted, my aunt.
I must sleep, either to dream of Khosrow
or to have nightmares about the war.
Who are these men around Bahram?
Your serfs, Majesty.
Ferocious fighters, better than our indolent soldiers.
What was promised to them? Paradise, treasure or power?
Deception is more effective than the promise of paradise.
What should we do, now that we are doomed?
- This war is hopeless. - We can retreat from this defeat.
The main player in this chess game is deception.
The pawns aspire to royalty.
The king should retreat to his fort.
Where to, Shapoor? Escape to where?
First Azerbaijan, and then Moghan.
In the vicinity of Mahin and Shirin?
O the tricks of Destiny!
All we need is forty men.
Let us go! It's never too late to fight.
I saw him. At last I saw him.
Last night I dreamt of a knight
who had a branch instead of a head,
where a dove had made its nest.
Was it a dream or a nightmare? I cannot tell.
I thought you were at the front, fighting the fierce enemy.
Their arrows were not as piercing as your gaze.
So you turned your back on the war,
defying the enemies in front
and ignoring the ones behind you.
Shirin, I was afraid...
So you are here to exercise your wrath on the young gazelles of this land.
I feared that we would never meet.
The engraver of the portrait should be punished for his lack of skill.
- Is that a compliment or an insult? - You are tired.
I shouldn't keep you any longer.
- Let us go. - Where?
Do not fear, my lord.
It is a long road, but we will shorten it with a few passionate stories.
- Run! - Run? From what?
From him, his presence, his intimacy, his constant entreaties.
From the look in his eyes, where lies the demon called desire.
From the road to disgrace.
From the darkest destiny.
All this laughter, all that charm, does it make people happy?
Women and wine! A combination that can't be matched, Majesty.
If we add the night to it, it assures sensuality.
That sombre sensuality belongs to the ignorant, not to lovers.
An endless solitude for a short-lived encounter.
A pained expression does not suit your lordship's face.
In such a night, the clouds and rain have hidden the face of the moon,
What joy may there be?
Where is she, Shapoor? Where is my moon?
She is glowing on the other side of the garden, glowing in the dark.
Is she here? Shirin is among us?
Look, my lord!
She is waiting on the other side of the garden.
Sad and Ionely.
Stay here.
You are alone, a stranger to intimacy.
Khosrow in Armenia and Shirin alone?
It's impossible, my lord.
The flames of passion uncover the deepest desire of the lover.
Tell me more clearly.
Thirsty in the desert, you pretend to be immersed in the sea.
Your smile is inviting and your eyes discouraging.
What is the mystery of this game?
No mystery!
The king desires an intimate union, for Shirin's body to warm his bed.
Water to quench his thirst.
But alas, it is quenched at the cost of Shirin's virtue.
I am burning with love and you evade me.
Your kingdom conquered by Bahram and you languish with love in Armenia?
What can I do?
Your love made me forget my throne.
And your heirs? How would you answer them?
That your lust for Shirin, deprived them of the throne?
Love not lust!
It's an excuse for getting satisfaction.
But Shirin is a dam that no deluge can overwhelm.
Iran, the 5000-year-old lady, embraced Bahram
and squirms with pain and pleasure beneath the thighs of his soldiers.
Why would the young and the sweet resist?
Men are childish.
They break the toy that does not give in to their game.
That night, Khosrow left for Rome.
With the help of the Roman army, he defeated Bahram
and married Maryam, the daughter of the Roman emperor.
He won back his throne
and Shirin, already alone, became Ionelier.
My aunt! My dear aunt!
Calm down, little love bird!
You look pale and feverish.
What do the court physicians do, beside sleeping and eating?
Stop being childish and beware of death.
Why speak of death?
I had my blossoming spring, I grew old in the autumn.
I now welcome the winter and the snow that will cover my grave.
Haven't I suffered enough?
My heart can't afford to be broken again,
nor my body to be abandoned.
It took me a long time on this earth to understand that the joys of life
are like the caress of a feather on the palm of your hand.
Pleasurable at first, but a real torment if it endures.
I leave this earth
to people who deserve a better life.
Bring the potion!
Hurry!
It's too late, my child.
Time flies and yet there are still so many unexpressed thoughts.
Talk straight from your heart, I'll understand
Do tell, I am listening.
I will bury my pain in my heart and shed no tears.
I fear for your youth which will end tonight.
At dawn
you will occupy the throne and command this people.
This kingdom was the apple of my eye,
and once my eyes are closed, it will be yours to receive.
I cherished these people as my own children.
Ensure that they have a better life.
Let your subjects travel freely and exempt them from paying taxes.
Offer them a peaceful life,
so that the prey and the predator, the sheep and the wolf,
drink from the same spring.
My sweet Shirin,
we destroyed this world.
It's yours to reconstruct.
Sleep, my aunt.
Today, with each drop of my tears,
I ask myself a thousand times, where is my beloved.
But the day is almost over, my suffering aunt.
I have no more tears left,
and the thought of Khosrow is not as vivid.
And hard times are upon us.
Shirin...
O my true God, come to my aid.
Are you awake?
With all the love whispers, how can I sleep?
Love whispers?
For years, we lost sleep over the nightmare of Bahram.
Now that he is burning in hell,
we have to endure your sweet dreams of Shirin.
That is her name, isn't it?
A faraway love, and perhaps lost.
Lying with his spouse, the king dreams of his lost love.
On a night like this, when angels and demons reunite,
has she any thoughts for me?
I have no other thoughts.
For years now, Shapoor, my only joy is thinking of him.
That is why I summoned you.
At your service, my lady.
The life of a queen is so dull.
They fall to their knees, they worship you.
But you know that it's all about their fascination with the throne.
In this despicable life, only love can save you.
It is the same for the flame. As long as it's burning...
It's dead!
That is another story.
The fire I talk about, never dies as long as it's tended.
I am not a flame and there is no wind blowing from anywhere.
I speak of love, my lady.
Let it burn, for time is passing by
and the autumn of life awaits you.
Your words are hurtful and quite bitter.
That is how the truth is.
Let us go to Iran.
I leave Armenia to my heirs.
Love makes me lose my patience
and it fills me with strength and courage.
We'll leave tonight.
Guided by the full moon, we will ride at full gallop,
Not straight towards love, but to its neighbourhood
where the same sun would shine on both Khosrow and me.
- Is she in Iran? - Yes, my lord.
In that sombre residence.
- She left her throne to come to Iran? - As fast as possible!
Does she know about my marriage?
She received the news with a bitter smile.
- What kind of madness is this? - Love. That is the name for it.
- I love her too, but... - Men get warmed by love.
Women get burned.
They are the first victims of that fire.
This love is not satisfied with one victim only.
Bring her to me, for us to burn together.
Majesty...
Maryam should not learn about this.
A woman's jealousy is as destructive as her love.
- No! - No?
Write it down! For me to seal it.
- Isn't it too short a letter? - Short and sweet.
Khosrow understands my heart with fewer words.
Forgive my boldness,
but why leave the throne for this sombre residence?
Today I discovered my first grey hair.
It took me a lifetime to understand that love was not an old rag
with which to polish men's boots.
Khosrow choose Maryam to make a political alliance.
He seeks his loved one to escape his solitude.
Write down that Shirin is a lover,
not just a sweet presence to save him from his Ionely nights.
- No, don't write that! - What should I write then?
Write... No, that's enough.
- Are you Farhad? - Which Farhad?
How many live in this dreary place?
The one I know is a master of geometry.
He knows all about Euclid and Almagest.
I am one of his disciples and I can take a message for him.
There is a palace at the foothill of Bistun.
The lady of the house requested his presence.
Each evening master Farhad inspects his apprentice's work...
Evening? Too late! The lady cannot wait.
Tell him to hurry!
- I forgot! Where should he go? - To the palace of Shirin.
I am so grateful for your presence.
Your school fellow, Shapoor, praised your many talents.
From geometry to drawing...
- Please, sit down. - My lady...
I can see that you are skilful and well built.
Your hands show traces of hard labour.
- Why are they shaking? - My whole body trembles.
Maybe you guessed the arduous task Shirin wants to entrust you with?
Shirin has been deprived of milk in her palace.
The meadows are far away and the roads bumpy.
Nothing is to our taste:
neither the sweets made for our pleasure,
nor the delicacy of the meat.
Master!
- Are you listening to me? - Yes, Madame.
You were talking about milk and sweet Shirin...
What is it, master? You look so pale!
He fainted!
We are losing him! Master Farhad!
Bring some water, a potion, the incense - just hurry!
He is shaking, his eyes glazing over.
- Call the physician! - Wait!
He is calming down, his eyes are heavy.
What happened to the water?
Here it is. Shall we spray it on his face?
His eyes, Madame...
Thank God.
Master, are you awake? Can you see me?
How to forget that gaze, virtuous, tender, and soft?
Don't blame me, if by the side of Khosrow's dead body,
I am remembering the loving gaze of Farhad.
It's not my fault,
but the fault of this world, cruel to lovers,
and which endowed Farhad with that gaze and not anyone else,
not even Khosrow.
- Farhad? Which Farhad? - The stone carver.
My friend and my schoolfellow.
In China he studied geometry and I chose the pen.
He chose the order of art and science.
To enter the court, I bowed and submitted to the kings.
Such men are inclined towards rebellion.
Why is he submitting to love now?
Love and rebellion, two sides of the same coin.
Disappointed by one, they turn to the other.
Hence, before people make another Bahram of him,
- bring him to me. - Your Majesty...
The stone carver is interfering with our love.
Either he is daring, or the king has weakened?
I need to look straight into his eyes.
Inform the stone carver that Mount Damavand awaits him.
My governess used to tell me the story of a sculptor
whose hands got cut off for disobedience
and then he started sculpting with his feet.
But it would be a pity to cut off your hands and feed them to the dogs.
- The hands of a sculptor... - The hands of a stone carver...
The hands of a lover, I must say!
Isn't that so?
Those mountains were carved by love and not by your hands!
My hands obey my heart, and my heart obeys Shirin.
Oh yes! Shirin!
People are telling stories about your love for the Armenian princess.
Those are not stories, my king.
She is etched onto my heart and I long for her.
Are you talking about love or engraving?
Boasting about a scratched heart? Love deserves better.
The king talks about the heart but I am talking about my soul.
- Talk about Shirin's love! - It's sweeter than love.
- A love without support or refuge? - My eye will be its refuge.
What if she fills it with tears and blood?
I will offer her the other one.
- What if she asks for more? - I will implore the gods for it.
If you had a more peaceful life you wouldn't be so extreme.
I've no desire for easy living.
- An unfortunate plight. - Love is a sweet struggle.
Learn to be patient then!
How can I be patient with a broken heart? Impossible!
- Stop this game! - The game of love, my king?
- Is there an end to it? - Another impossible demand!
- Still blinded by love? - Till death fills my eyes.
It's a hopeless love. Abandon it!
Love does not abandon me!
Are you aware of my love for her?
The king's love does not surprise me.
I am surprised that the entire world is not in love with her.
- What an obstinate heart! - My heart is not mine anymore.
One last question.
What would you do if I were to look at her body?
Again and again?
The king's gaze would make me sigh
and with that sigh, I could burn the whole world.
All the sky has to offer
is love.
The earth would be a desert
without the rain of love.
A loveless soul
is a dead flower.
Even with a hundred lives, without love,
it would be dead.
The flame of love
is the best gift of this world.
Without love,
flowers wouldn't laugh
and clouds wouldn't cry.
What is this perfume coming from the mountains?
Who is this rider, hair flowing through the wind?
My God!
Are my dreams becoming reality?
- Farhad... - Madame.
I am here to see you.
To see your strong arm
fighting rough stone and cold steel.
By the grace of your presence, the steel is warmer than my heart,
and the stone softer than the clay.
Isn't this my portrait looking back at me as if it were my reflection in a mirror?
How could you remember me in such detail after a single encounter?
My eyes are not guilty of this insolence.
Your face is engraved on my heart.
It's too hot.
How can you work under this blazing sun?
Are you feeling dizzy?
My horse feels worse than me.
Stay on the saddle and don't let go of the reins.
I brought you milk.
If only this horse would stay calm...
Shirin or the milk...
For which one of these benedictions should I be more grateful?
Drink, Farhad.
The cold milk tends to your burning heart.
Let my heart burn endlessly,
hoping for a droplet of water, dripping from my lady's finger.
Calm down, my horse, don't be agitated.
It is not a good time to rebel.
He is not agitated, my lady. He is offering his life to his rider.
Help me, Farhad.
Soon, I will be rolling in my blood through the stones.
Have no fear.
The horse and the rider can now relax on my shoulders.
The horse and the rider on your shoulders?
I must be dreaming.
It is you who appeared in my dream.
You came to transform a nightmare into a sweet dream.
Have no fear, Shirin.
You stay on your horse, on my shoulders
and I will take you to your residence.
Stay on your saddle, as without the strength of your name,
Bistun is nothing more than a ruin worthy of owls.
Your name is endangering our glory, Farhad.
You made of geometry an art admired by all, and I didn't say anything.
You fell in love with the love of my life,
your song was chanted by all and I didn't say anything.
You were wandering around singing your love for Shirin,
your voice filled the plains and the mountains and I didn't say anything.
You got on your knees in front of me, King of Persia, Khosrow Parviz,
but praised her, and I didn't say anything.
But what is this new feat?
Taking Shirin and her horse on your shoulders
wandering around town and leaving the passers-by astonished?
I have to wash away this disgrace.
Khosrow will save his honour in the fairest way.
It's a battle between my heart and your chisel.
Throw your chisel, as my heart is tough enough to bend it,
in the fairest way.
It's not a battle between a king and his subject, but between lovers.
One will live and one will perish.
The one who wins
is the cruel-hearted one who wears the tough armour of rancour
and wields the bitter sword of vengeance!
I am lost from within
And from my own eyes
I disappeared
Like spindrift
I melted in the sea
I was a shadow
At the beginning
Lying down on the ground
As soon as the sun
Appeared
I disappeared
That's a beautiful song.
I don't know if it's beautiful,
but if this breath couldn't turn into a chant,
it would have consumed me.
Without these songs, the world would be a living hell!
You look like a mountain boy!
- But you can't be from Zagros. - I am from Ararat, in Armenia.
From so far away?
I am here to mourn the great lady of Armenia.
A lady from Armenia?
She renounced the throne, searching for a hopeless love.
Alas, Iran did not offer her a wedding, but a funeral.
Who are you talking about?
Why are you moved by the death of a complete stranger?
Just tell me the name of the stranger.
To me, it would sound sweeter than the name of many intimate friends.
Shirin, the lady of Armenia, died in her bloom.
Call me from the depth of darkness.
Shirin! My sweet!
How could I bear the bitterness of this existence
without you, my Shirin?
Take my stone-carving hand and lead me.
Damn this game of men that we call love!
They buried your innocence, and your Ionely soul.
With you, Shirin was buried too.
You cracked open the soil with your chisel
and a tree burst out, bearing fruit that was a panacea for lovers.
But what am I saying, Farhad?
With you, all lovers died.
Years passed by, we became old,
children grew up,
our intimates died one after the other.
Farhad is dead,
Maryam is dead,
Shirouyeh, son of Khosrow, has grown up.
And Shirin
who had waited for so many years, all alone,
finally took the warm hands of Khosrow into her hands.
After waiting so long, finally the days of longing were over.
We have waited so long for this embrace, my sweet.
I am fearful, Khosrow.
Why are you fearful, in this serene, voluptuous night?
I fear that this embrace may turn out to be a dream.
Like all the dreams we had throughout the years
which, on waking, would turn into horrible nightmares.
I overcame thousands of perilous obstacles to reach you.
I had to use thousands of schemes to get to the only object of my desire.
O my Shirin, queen of all fairy tales...
I am fearful, Khosrow.
I fear that this joy won't last.
The earth is turning for us
and even the inhabitants of paradise envy us.
- And your son, Shirouyeh? - Shirouyeh?
One can see a demon in his eyes.
He is so young.
His eyes are filled with rancour and hatred.
He is just a child, my sweet.
A child with much ambition.
Not least to sit on your throne.
His brothers are more worthy.
I fear for them too.
Shirin!
I swear to God that your fear is the fruit of your imagination.
I am tormented, Khosrow.
Fear and anxiety do not leave me.
You should leave them.
Yield to me, to this night of union,
to the stars that are shining for us
and to this full moon, with its bridal look.
One night, this child, this youngster,
exchanged his childhood for power.
He cut off the hands and feet of his brothers
and imprisoned his father.
But you my sisters,
you know the story better than I do.
Here is another manly game.
Shirin...
Khosrow!
Who's calling me?
Be calm, my love. It's me, Shirin.
I cannot see you, my sweet.
My eyes...
You won't need them, in this darkness.
Here are my hands, my hair.
My heart, can you hear it?
It beats for you.
I spoke of serene voluptuousness in the arms of my beloved,
forgetting about the bell
which tolls the end of our ephemeral happiness.
Be calm, my love.
The hour is cruel, but I cherish the fact that you are alive.
I will share your last breath.
Don't leave me.
Neither chains nor prison could kill me -
your absence is fatal to me.
Be calm and sleep,
like an exhausted tide which rests on the sand.
Sleep.
I won't leave you.
Sleep.
It was the last time I ever slept.
- Hit him harder! - Once and for all!
- Let's get it over with! - It's done!
And here we are,
Khosrow and I,
and you, my grieving sisters.
You look at his dead body and you cry.
You listen to my story and you cry.
Through these tears, I see your eyes.
Are you shedding these tears for me, Shirin?
Or for the Shirin that hides in each one of you?
Shirin who, through her life, received neither any favour nor any attention.
She was in love, a love that was never returned.
She was Ionely and no one believed her Ioneliness.
Upon her death only, they would remember the young girl
In love with games, rain and sunshine,
a rainbow in her eyes
and tears of seven colours falling on her cheeks.
Ah, I am tired,
so tired, my sad sisters.
Only a dagger,
a small dagger could relieve me from
these many years of exhaustion.
I am lost from within
And from my own eyes
I disappeared
Like spindrift
I melted in the sea
I was a shadow
At the beginning
Lying down on the ground...