POETRY

Khaylee Mamnoon

Salaam Manoucher Jaan. Khaylee mamnoon az in sh'er-e zibaa.

Apolitcized poetry

Siavash Jaan;

Poetry cannot stay away from politics, however politiczed poetry sometimes falls to the base level of poltics itself. Please, read the following poem that I wrote about the greatest warmonger of these days. It is not hard to find His Excellency.

Most Bitter Grain
Your Excellency; your bloody reign
For the world as whole yielded only pain.
As the right result of your policies
On many cities bombs showered like rain.
No village is safe from your pillage
Your hand's stretched to mount and plain.
Like the arrogants who are gone before
In power you want for ever remain.
That is the reason you are fully dull
Towards the concerned, those who complain.
By ruining others, you want to be safe?
Those who sought that end were also insane.
I am so afraid you be told one day,
Whatever you did were indeed in vain.
It is no wonder any way you turn
People receive you with a full disdain.
Have you ever thought in the field of life
Most bitter grain to become your gain?

Shaad Baashee

Please Write Poems Only

Please, try to stay away from posting anything that has to do with politics, like your post about questions to Ahmadinejad which was a disaster. However, spend all of your energy to writing poems.

Why to an abyss?

Gomnam Jaan;

Why to an abyss?
To the high skies,
Bright galaxies,
And far horizons,
Waves of existence
That never stop;
Heart of the matter
That always flows
In all directions;
Rapture of laughter;
Birth of new life;
To the red color;
Mountains and the sea;
To hearts of lovers;
Open your windows.

Shaad Baashee

Bravo

This poem,
as well as the one written in reply, are both two of the most beautiful I've
seen. The Hope imbued in the spirit of
strife, this is also what I have been looking for. Maybe someday, I will find this hope. But
alas, I lay in the darkness of the abyss, waiting for my end so that if I
cannot find bliss, then at least I will not rot in the abyss.

The Forest

From dawn to dusk
Of these eventful days
To claws of saws and edges of axes
Fall my children: the trees,
Green, tall, proud,
As storms of intruders plunder
Riches of my heart,
With zest.
Thus,
They intend
To build dwellings of ants
On my cleared earth:
As they have built upon those of my kin's
Somewhere farther north.
In place of each fallen tree
Density of ten seedlings I shall grow;
Fresh,
From my tropical rich heart.
Since the foggy memories of Earth
I have been imbued with the soul of life,
Rebirth,
Growth.
Are they not aware
I have defied death by spirit of strife?