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Poetry

Fifteen

 

March 6, 2005
iranian.com

Fifteen poems:

Matrix: Forbidden word
The
World
You live in
Is a big lie
Do not attempt
Under any circumstances
To incorporate the word "justice"
In your everyday open conversation
This is a key "gate" word that sets you
Apart from this world
Only whisper it to yourself
While your head is covered
By a thick blanket
Without making
Any vibration
From its utterance
For its identification

Tool of torture
In modern times
As man's brain literally gets
Wired up with the internet
Cell by cell
And nerve by nerve
For thinking, functioning and what not
Its slow down
Whether for high traffic
Or whether for viruses and inflection
Or whether for the deliberate act of sabotage
Has truly
Turned this tool-technology
To an effective means for mental and emotional torture
With no equivalent of it at all
Throughout man's history

Water
When you mess
Only a little bit with the Persian Gulf
And call it Arabian
All Iranians get all up in arms in violent protest
To make sure the gulf always remains Persian
Both in name and in spirit
But when you take out
Azarbaijan, Georgia, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan..
And all the rest that was gobbled up by the Russian Tsar
From the Persian map
You hardly could hear a whimper
That only says
Persians are in  love with water!

Poles
In the darkest
And longest night
There are stars
And in the longest
And brightest day
There is shadow

Baptism
One of the reasons
That in the modern age
Religion has fallen
Out of favor by most people
Particularly by
The X and Y and Z generation
Is that
Religion is associated with laziness
Where the faithful adhere to
Reading a single book over and over again
As they split into more sects and new denominations
Whereas secular people
Go after books like savages to read them
As the book production grows exponentially
With publishing book companies
Deliver their harvest larger each year
For their non-stop-hard-at-work consumers
Often being mistakenly called book worms

Cold butter
They all put their heads
To make sure my poems
Would not get its way into the public
Their armor shield was thick and strong
But my poems were
Thundersome
Agile
Shocking
Beautiful
New
Sharp
And
Above
All
Captivating
Oh I had such great time
To cut through their defense shield
Like hot knife into a thick cold butter
To get into their heads for total surrender

Red alert
How may times
I must say this that
It takes
More stamina
More resolve
More discipline
And more determination
To hold on to one's own joyful soul
Than to burst into intolerance and anger
For the second option
Is the work of
Lazy minds with no concentration
Who can't stay focused on the moving ball in speed

The return of super balls
Theories
Are in abundance
As to why lots and lots of
Iranians began to leave their country since the 80's
But my humble view is
They all left
Not for economic reasons
Not for cultural reasons
Not for social reasons
And not certainly for religious or family  reasons
But they all left
Because
They wanted to hold on to their ball
Before being punctured prematurely by the ball breakers

Untitled
The reason it is being said
A half-empty glass
Should be viewed as half-full
Is not based on the desire
To encourage and increase
Optimism in a person
But
It is based on a conviction
To make sure
The individual
Does not lose
His ground
For an empty air
And then become rootless

Freud revisited
Some intellectuals
Act like chronic addicts
In that
If they don't publish
A book or article
Right after another
Faster and faster
To see them in print
To show them off
To build up their self worth and confidence
They feel as if
They are about to be castrated
By their super ego

Breaking point
She
Wrote
A
Long
And
Long
Poem
With only one title
I broke her poem apart
Into bits and pieces
Each with a new title
And then I publish it all as one book
Without changing her original poem title
Over night it was an instant success for sale
In a busy world
Where one word alone to read
Is considered an overload of information
To a breaking point

Bad blood
If
A child
Does not work hard enough
To earn respect for his high royal blood
For succession
And if the king chooses him regardless
Then this only means
The dynasty has come to an abrupt termination
With a new king rising from the grassroots
With a whole new set of horror & honey
For the kingdom

The blinded city
I went to a city
And I found all
Except the children
Were blinded in one eye
And when I asked as to why
They all have lost their vision
A child stepped forward
And respectfully told me
Because they were all lying for flesh
In day light despite the sun over their heads
And without shame or remorse
I hugged the child and said
Now you are the eye of your parents
Show them the way out of this darkness

Drippings of pen
The joy of
Going farther and falling deeper
Outweighed
The horror of
Responsibility
That comes
With the birth of a brand new child
During that period of
True love making

Pay day
"Nothing
Is
Sacred"
Is
An
Unrealistic
Motto
When
One
First
Does
Not
Exclude
The
Money
From
It

* *

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