Dancing with a Fake Passport serves as his latest commentary on some of the burdens of living in Iran in the recent years, and one that with only a few months in the market has become a best-seller and published for a second time. The verses within Dancing with a Fake Passport serve as poignant reflection on current social, political, and human tragedies, infused with a philosophically resonant approach that transcends cultural boundaries. This collection embodies hallmark elements of Langeroodi's worldview and poetic style, including astute observations on contemporary issues and an exploration of the minutiae of daily life in pursuit of understanding existence, through a new lens of love.
This book was translated by Elyana Shamselangeroodi and Farzaneh Davari. Below, you can find two of the translated poems from this book.
Revert
“You’ve taken the wrong path-revert!
You’ve created your own hell,
Before Israfil even blows his trumpet,
We beg of you, return to your caves.
You blink, and the dust of your eyelashes,
Casts a shadow on our hearts.
What has been granted to you,
From all the grief you bring upon us,
We beg of you, return to your caves,
To dwell with the mammoths,
And the ghost ships with their nightly parties!
We beg of you, return to the jungle of bones,
And stare at your memento photographs,
Taken with the moths.
Atomic bombs are not children’s toys,
With your gasoline-fueled horses,
With your electronic Tesla mules,
Return to your stone consoles,
And every so often, come back,
Watch our bright city from afar,
And see how, like a peaceful tiger, it sleeps in your absence.
You’ve taken the wrong path-
Revert!
Before, you are turned to ashes
In the fire of our cities.”
AFRICA IS PEPPER SAUCE
“Africa is pepper sauce,
Palestine, the olive,
Yemen, tomato sauce,
Gentlemen, please help yourselves- dinner is served:
Kabul’s steak,
With fresh meat,
And a special sauce from Russia.
Dinner is getting cold, please, help yourselves.
In the early evening, a strange wind blows.
Iran, where tears rise overnight,
China, a butcher’s shop for squirrels,
Smoked in the haze of cold blood,
The American waiter knows strange magic,
Please, help yourselves,
It is getting cold.
Egypt is the pneumonia of the seasons,
Pakistan, the periodic fever syndrome,
Dubai, freshly diapered,
Carcinogenic banks loom.
Do not eavesdrop, gentlemen,
This is the Middle East.
Saudi Arabia, a stall selling wails,
With motorized horses,
Alive, with gleaming golden teeth,
And cardboard banks aplenty,
Everything is fresh.
The guests don one another’s face masks, unrecognizable,
But the sound of their footsteps remains familiar.
Please indulge in Kabul’s steak,
With fresh meat,
And a special sauce from Pakistan.
This is the chef’s Middle East special,
Please help yourselves- it is getting cold.”